


Dum Vivimus, Vivamus

by EclecticInkling



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Lots of alcohol, M/M, Making Out, Poor Life Decisions, Underage Drinking, a stop sign is involved, as is a burning couch, because I'm an american and they are definitely not of legal age for drinking here, crazy shenangians, lap dance, nothing too bad really, the fraternity au no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 09:53:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5864695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclecticInkling/pseuds/EclecticInkling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What kind of messed up idiot falls for their insane, loud, stupidly attractive pledge brother?</p><p>Akaashi fucking Keiji, that’s who.</p><p>Of fucking course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dum Vivimus, Vivamus

**Author's Note:**

> For the sin squad, especially Jane, Ang, and Bean. You guys were there when I first revisited this idea and you helped me to create it into the giant universe it now is. 
> 
> A huge shout out to my wonderful soul mate, Remmi, who acted as my beta for this entire fic. All 24k words of it.
> 
> And SO MUCH GRATITUDE to Mars (@yaboykeiji) who drew this lovely art of [ Bokuto and Akaashi](https://twitter.com/yaboykeiji/status/700107219958779904) for my birthday.
> 
> I wanted to explore a side of Akaashi that doesn't generally get touched upon, and so this was born. I hope you enjoy!

The first time Keiji meets Bokuto, it’s completely by accident.

 

He’s sitting on the curb outside of the student bar, beer in one hand and phone in the other, bemoaning his embarrassing level of tolerance while trying to keep himself from vomiting right there on the street.

 

It’s only two weeks into his first year at university, and he’s already swimming in alcohol and academic regrets. Personally, Keiji is starting to think that whoever convinced him to declare as an engineering major because of “the great opportunities and fun, hands-on classes” needs to be shot, because they fucking _lied_ . There is _nothing_ fun about staying up until two or three in the morning frantically trying to make sense of the assigned equations and readings because, as their professors made sure to emphasize on the first day, only a third of the entering majors would be allowed to continue at the end of the semester.

 

The pressure is enough to make him want to quit. His stupid pride is enough to force him to stick it out. And the lukewarm beer in his hands is pretty much the only thing keeping him going through it all.

 

Sighing, he tips his head back and empties whatever was left in the bottle. The alcohol is heavy on his tongue, but in a familiar sort of way. (Which probably says more about his poor life choices than he’d care to admit, considering he shouldn’t even be drinking alcohol in the first place.) It’s warm and relaxing, and it makes his head spin pleasantly when he lets his head flop forward again, very nearly toppling over in the process. Silently, he thanks whatever obscure god comes to mind that all the guys he came with are still getting drunk off their asses inside of the bar and not outside with him, witnessing his almost loss of dignity only two weeks into their acquaintance. Which isn’t exactly the best impression to make, to be honest.

 

Not that his classmates are any better. He’d wager that at least three of them will be passed out on their floors by the end of the night, and another two will wake in some stranger’s bed the next morning. At least Keiji still has a tiny bit of soberness and sense left in him.

 

Kind of.

 

Maybe.

 

He’s debating the pros and cons of returning to the bar and getting another bottle— one of the cons being that he’s obviously already having trouble just sitting up straight without adding standing and, god forbid, _walking_ into the equation— when his gaze falls upon a random street sign about twelve or so feet away from where he’s sitting, and the young man holding onto it for dear life as he vomits into the bushes beyond.

 

The retching is pretty disgusting, in all honesty, but Keiji can sympathize with the guy. He’s just another victim of midnight inebriation. Probably a fellow student even. He’s pretty young, smooth faced with white and black hair in complete disarray, and if Keiji didn’t notice the Greek letters across his back he might have said the guy was a first year as well. Instead, Keiji files the guy away in his brain haze under the label “mystery frat guy” and then proceeds to do the polite thing and ignores him.  

 

Which leaves him staring at the sign, since there’s really nothing else interesting on this whole street.

 

To be fair, it’s quite a nice sign. Very tall. Very… square? Well, not quite square. More like a square that had been turned on its side, but Keiji can’t really recall what the actual shape is called at the moment, though he knows it has something to do with gemstones. He thinks calling it a square is close enough with the state he’s in. He thinks it’s one of those pedestrian signs, but with the weird lack of light on this street it’s too hard to actually tell, and Keiji isn’t really keen on getting any closer to it just now.

 

He likes pedestrian signs though. They’re kind of cheerful with their happy, yellow backgrounds and black stick man. Some times they’ll show a mom and a child crossing, but Keiji likes the stick man best. He doesn’t know why, he just does. Maybe it’s because of how confident that stick man seems about crossing the street. Like it’s his only purpose in life, and yes, he’ll cross this street no matter what you say or do, thank you very much. Or maybe it’s for the same reason he likes stop signs— because of how familiar and standard they are, even in a different city. Even in a different country. No matter where he goes, he can always count on a stop sign being somewhere in the vicinity, which is really comforting.

 

“I’ve always kinda wanted to steal like a stop sign or somethin’,” he mumbles to himself as he leans forward to rest his cheek against his pulled-in knees, turned so he can still see the sign. He doesn’t look at the young man beside it, though he has long since fallen silent, aside from the random cough or sniffle. It just seems rude to stare at him when he’s still recovering, and really there’s no reason for Keiji to even bother since they don’t even know one another.

 

But the mystery frat guy isn’t nearly as out of it as Keiji assumes because it isn’t too much later that Keiji hears him say, “Me too,” in a surprisingly cheerful tone.

 

Keiji looks to the side, sees the guy grinning over at him, far too chipper for someone in his state, and feels the first prickling of what he’ll later figure out is interest. He doesn’t realize that at the moment though, only knows that there’s something oddly alluring about this guy with his fraternity sweatshirt and wild hair and gleaming, gold eyes. His expression is stuck somewhere between excited and surreptitious as he then asks, without a single hint of irony, “Wanna do it?”

 

And Keiji shouldn’t just go somewhere with a stranger while he’s plastered out of his mind. He knows he shouldn’t. But he still picks himself up off the curb with a loud grunt and an even louder, “Ok,” that makes mystery guy beam at him like he’s some sort of god-given answer to an unasked question.

 

He doesn’t think about that, however. Just follows the mystery guy down the street and into the darkness, leaving the bar and all of its drunken revelry far behind.

 

* * *

 

Keiji doesn’t remember much from that night when he wakes up the next morning, head pounding, mouth parched, and muscles sore as fuck. He’s in his own room, thank god, but still has no idea what sort of shenanigans he managed to get himself into before the night was out. But obviously it was wild, just considering the new bruises on his legs and the way his arms are still throbbing.

 

There’s a stop sign leaning against the wall beside him for some reason— stolen right off the pole, from the looks of it. There’s also a piece of paper in his pocket that has the name “Phi Kappa Delta,” an address, specific time, and next Thursday’s date scrawled across it that Keiji has no idea what to do with.

 

He ends up tacking it to his desk’s corkboard for later consideration before dragging himself to the community bathroom for a much needed shower. The stop sign keeps its place against the wall, and stays there for the next three months.

 

A remnant of the wild adventure he can’t even remember.

 

* * *

 

“You know, I don’t even know why I thought this would be a good idea,” Keiji mumbles to Sarukui, a new friend from his biweekly Modern Physics class, as they walk down what every student at their university has fondly dubbed “New Greek Street.”

 

(New, because the last Greek Street apparently got trashed so badly after Homecoming a few years back that it had to be demolished completely, and all the Greek organizations relocated to this new street under tightened regulations, which obviously aren’t that well enforced. The street reeks of alcohol, and is littered by various broken bottles, cigarette butts, and half-empty toilet paper rolls— the other halves draped messily over every tree and roof that can be reached so the horizon seems half-filled with white, sometimes patterned, toilet paper streamers.)

 

There’s a party already going full swing at the Phi Kappa Delta house by the time they arrive. Music is blaring from every window, the bass deep and pulsating and so loud that it goes straight through Keiji’s chest. All across the lawn and porch, students are sprawled out in a drunken stupor, while through the windows Keiji can see tons of other students still jumping about and dancing like there’s no tomorrow, and Keiji has never felt so out of place in his entire life.

 

University is like this whole other dimension that’s only talked about in fairy tales, or perhaps, more aptly for the engineering majors, in those ghost stories told around campfires at night. The ones where the protagonist gets stolen away to an alternate reality where nothing makes sense, and where anything that _can_ happen, _does_ happen. Whether or not that’s a good thing, Keiji has yet to decide.

 

He’s had a rough time adjusting to the oddities of a college campus. He remembers thinking he was still in some sort of dream on the first day of classes when he walked into the math building’s elevator to find it occupied by a table, five chairs, and three male students playing what looked to be either poker or a very intense game of Go Fish.

 

And that was only the first of the many weird experiences Keiji has had in these first three weeks of school. In fact, just the other day Keiji walked past the science building and saw the fake T-Rex skeleton in the science garden surrounded by a giant horde of garish, pink lawn flamingos.  Why someone thought that was good idea, Keiji can’t explain, but he’s slowly coming to accept that it’s simply a part of university life. The same way that classes are a part of it. And weird dining hall food that he’s never quite sure is safe to eat. And large fraternity parties with drinking and smoking and dancing that Keiji will never actually fit into.

 

He really shouldn’t be here at all. He wonders if it’s already too late to turn back. Maybe he can still catch that one volleyball tournament’s broadcast if he runs fast enough.

 

“Come on, Akaashi,” Sarukui laughs. He’s already grabbed the hem of Keiji’s overlarge sweatshirt and is pulling him forward with a surprising amount of strength, as if he knows exactly what Keiji is considering doing. “You gotta experience something like this at least once in your life. It could be lots of fun.”

 

“Or it could be a complete wreck,” Keiji replies, looking dubiously around the yard that is littered by passed out students and empty beer cans and one very beat up couch. (Who the fuck puts a couch in the middle of their front yard? Like, just one couch. No other furniture or even a cooler or anything. Just a couch, sitting there, surrounded by drunk people. What the fuck?)

 

Nevertheless, he allows Sarukui to drag him across the yard and into the house, which is so filled with the sound of music and yelling that Keiji can barely hear himself think. He scarcely has any time to jump out of the way as some shirtless guy with a mohawk barrels past him, red solo cup in one hand and a pair of lacy panties that Keiji can only assume came from some unfortunate girl clutched in the other. The guy is yelling something about success and a dare and is all but worshiping this single pair of panties, and Keiji just stares at him in shock.

 

Sarukui, on the other hand, is glowing, taking in everything around them with a look akin to awestruck wonder. And the sheer excitement on his friend’s face would make Keiji double over in laughter if he wasn’t so uncomfortable in his own skin.

 

He doesn’t really know what to do or where to go, and he’s starting to believe that he desperately needs a drink of some sort, though _where_ the drinks are at is a mystery in and of itself. Keiji’s too overwhelmed by everything to even attempt to go exploring, even if it means getting through the night without a single drop of blessed, blessed alcohol. He’d rather stick to this tiny corner that he’s carved out than throw himself headfirst into this mess when he has no idea what he’s in for. Small parties and bars are familiar things to Keiji by this point, but this… this is brand new territory.

 

There are people _everywhere_ , jammed into every nook and cranny of this beat up house, and even more people are still arriving. Most of the first floor, and probably the second floor as well, has been converted into an impromptu dance floor where all manners of students, from greek to goth to geek, are grinding all up on each other and looking just one step away from becoming a giant, public orgy. Actually, he wouldn’t be surprised if some couples were actually fucking somewhere in the middle of the crowd. He’s heard of it happening before, and this party seems like the perfect place for it to happen again. But if there is, no one seems at all bothered by it and they just keep on dancing.

 

Keiji looks away before he can catch the eyes of any of the dancers and get beckoned into the fray. Instead, he looks back towards his friend only to find that Sarukui has already abandoned him.

 

Well, sort of abandoned him. He’s not that far away from Keiji, in a less crowded area that Keiji knows he could worm his way into. But he’s also been pulled into what looks like a game of beer pong, and Keiji isn’t about to get mixed up in that at all.

 

A drink, he may need. Getting wasted and humiliated in front of a crowd of frat boys, he does not.

 

At some point in the night, he manages to force himself from his claimed corner long enough to snag a cup of punch from the refreshment table on the other side of the house. It’s a blessed relief to his overloaded senses. He has no idea what’s filling the cup, other than it being some deadly mixture of punch and alcohol, (maybe vodka with how subtle the aftertaste is), but he drinks it anyways, letting it dull and relax his nerves. He needs it if he’s planning to get through the rest of this night, since he already knows Sarukui won’t let him sneak out early.

 

Not that Sarukui would even notice, if Keiji is being honest. It’s been near an hour since Keiji last saw his friend; that game of beer pong has already wrapped up and Sarukui has been swept away into the dancing crowd, far from Keiji’s sight. If Keiji really wants to, he could probably just slip out the front door and head back to his dorm room without Sarukui even realizing it.

 

But, as crazy as everything is, and as loathe as he is to admit it, Keiji is starting to enjoy the party in a way.

 

The alcohol in his cup mellows him out, making him feel warm and giddy. Close to giggly. He’s always been something of a quiet, serious, solitary drunk, but only once he’s reached a certain level of intoxication. And Keiji isn’t quite there yet. He’s still tiptoeing through that early buzz that makes him more agreeable, more amused by the drunken antics of the people around him, and a little more bold than he’d dare be without the alcohol-induced absence of his inhibitions. He’s very nearly in that state of tipsy that induces a sort of daredevil streak that’s always gotten him into trouble so many times before. Already, Keiji can feel the craving for insanity in the pit of his stomach, the growing need for release.

 

And Keiji really should just stop drinking here before he plunges over the edge and does something insane. Again.

 

Instead, he chugs the rest of his drink in two large gulps and throws the solo cup over his shoulder, where it lands neatly in the nearly full trash can.

 

The craving inside him grows stronger with the sudden influx of alcohol. He can feel it buzz straight through to his fingertips, which twitch in barely restrained anticipation, and Keiji has to do something, _anything_ , to keep himself in check and away from temptation, because getting himself into trouble definitely isn’t on his agenda for tonight. Not after that adventure last week with the stop sign. So he wanders through the house, slight sway in his steps, weaving through the crush of people as best he can without letting himself get drawn into any of their antics. And there are a _lot_ of antics going on.

 

Keiji skirts around the dance floor, which has grown almost three times in size over the past hour as more people get absorbed into what Keiji’s now taken to calling the drunken mosh pit of doom, and past a group of guys smoking pot from a bong in the corner. He pauses and just narrowly misses being pummeled by two guys who, in some attempt to imitate a WWE match, crash right into a table in front of him, sending people screaming and drinks flying.

 

Yeah, now seems like a good time to head upstairs and find a nice, quiet, _safe_ corner to spend the rest of the night in.

 

He backs up and turns on his heel, intent on finding the stairs and making his escape, but finds himself running face first into another guy’s chest, whose hands automatically clutch Keiji’s upper arms in order to steady him, as if Keiji will just fall right over from the impact. He’s not _that_ drunk, he thinks. Just a little tipsy, and still fully capable of handling himself. But it’s nice, feeling the firm grip on his arms. The hands are large and warm, and they carry a strength that Keiji could never hope to obtain himself. When they push him back, Keiji glances up to see a blinding grin and piercing gold eyes, which widen upon actually seeing Keiji.

 

“Hey, hey, hey!” the guy booms, loud enough for Keiji to clearly hear him, even with the music blasting through the entire room. “Stop sign boy! You made it!”

 

“Uh… yeah…”

 

Keiji looks over the guy’s face in a panic, trying to place where they might have met before. The gold eyes seem familiar. And the white-bleached hair with black streaks— not something Keiji is likely to forget. He mentioned something about the stop sign too, so he must’ve at least seen Keiji that night at the bar, not that Keiji can recall anyone he met that night. He thinks about the stop sign still sitting in his room, and the piece of paper that led him to this party in the first place, and then it all comes rushing back.

 

Sitting on the curb. The “mystery frat guy” retching into the bushes. Working together to nab a stop sign from some tiny nearby neighborhood, just for the hell of it.

 

The guy must notice Keiji’s sudden realization, because he lets Keiji go without any further comments about that crazy night. Instead, he holds a hand out and introduces, “Bokuto Koutarou. Sophomore, Phi Kap.”

 

“Akaashi Keiji,” he replies slowly. “Freshman.”

 

Bokuto grins and grabs Keiji’s hand, shaking it with vigor. He seems genuinely delighted to see Keiji, which Keiji finds a little surprising, considering they’d only met once before, and on a night where they were both drunk out of their minds too. Or at least Keiji was. Bokuto seems to remember more of what happened. It makes Keiji wonder what exactly he did to make this guy smile at him like that— all flashing teeth and bright eyes and sheer excitement. And then he wonders what he can do to make sure that smile stays there.

 

“You’re a lot quieter than I remember you being,” Bokuto says. He tilts his head to the side, goofy grin still stretched wide across his face, and Keiji feels his stomach leap. But like, pleasantly, as if he was on a roller coaster. He really should lay off on alcohol for the rest of the night.

 

“That’s because I was plastered,” Keiji sighs, which makes Bokuto throw his head back and laugh.

 

“You’re definitely right about that. Man, you were insane! Do you even remember what happened last week?” he asks.

 

Keiji hesitates to answer, but then finally shakes his head, and Bokuto claps a hand on Keiji’s shoulder. There’s a new glint in his gold eyes, a kind of conspiratorial gleam that sends a shiver straight through Keiji and tugs at that craving for excitement he’s been trying so hard to keep down. That itch for insanity explodes from Keiji’s control.

 

His fingers twitch. Bokuto’s grin morphs into a crooked smirk. “Want to have another adventure?”

 

And that’s how Keiji finds himself standing in front of the Phi Kappa Delta house, setting fire to that god-forsaken couch in the middle of New Greek Street.

 

Like moths to a literal flame, the burning couch attracts the attention of the other students, who all pour out of the Phi Kap party and the other houses along the street to crowd around spectacle. Some guys of other fraternities find old chairs or tables to add to the flames amidst the cheers of the crowd, turning the event into an impromptu bonfire, complete with near-eight-feet flames, bottles of beer, and clearly drunken singing, which soon gets drowned out by heavy bass when someone manages to drag the speakers outside and somehow turn the volume up even louder than it was before.

 

Keiji suddenly feels sorry for everyone living near New Greek Street. God knows they didn’t sign up for this sort of shit. But Bokuto shows no remorse for the situation they single-handedly created.

 

He flashes Keiji yet another bright grin— the kind that nearly rivals the sun in terms of light and warmth— and then joins in the dancing of the other students, crazy and wild and free. If Keiji were more of poet, he might have compared Bokuto to some sort of forest nymph or fae-like creature of old mythology. Instead, he throws all of his inhibitions out the window for the night and follows Bokuto into the fray.

 

The crush of people is both alarming and exhilarating. The adrenaline is intoxicating. And Keiji completely abandons himself to the moment, the itch inside of him finally satisfied.

 

At least for now.

 

* * *

 

“Did you _really_ set a couch on fire?”

 

“Shut up, Sarukui.”

 

“No, but seriously. Who are you and what have you done with Akaashi?”

 

“I said shut up.”

 

“And here I thought you didn’t like parties.”

 

“Your fault. Didn’t wanna go. Music, and beer, and, and… flames.”

 

“I had nothing to do with the flames. That was all you.”

 

“And Kou!”

 

“Who’s Kou?”

 

“Y’know. Kou! That guy… with the hair… and the pretty smile.”

 

“Oh my god. You’re so gay.”

 

“I knoooooow. ‘S terrible. I’m terrible.”

 

“You’re drunk.”

 

Yup!”

 

* * *

 

 _No more_ , is what Keiji decides after waking up the morning after the party with a massive headache and a sudden hatred of all light and sound. Sarukui laughs when Keiji comes to class that day in an overly-large sweatshirt and sunglasses, sporting a scowl that would turn blood cold, but that only strengthens Keiji’s resolve. _No more_ , he repeats to himself. No more drinking, no more parties, and especially no more crazy stunts.

 

He has work to do, and a GPA to keep, and losing himself to alcohol every week is definitely not going to help with that. Not if he wants to continue as an engineering major. Which, honestly, Keiji is really questioning at this point because the amount of effort he’s had to put into his classes just doesn’t seem worth it.

 

Keiji’s always been smart. He knows that. It doesn’t have anything to do with arrogance, he’s just come to this conclusion after years of being at the top of his classes in high school with minimal actual studying. That isn’t the case now, though. For the first time, Keiji’s truly struggling to keep up with his classes, so much so that he’d be ecstatic to receive a B as his final grade at the end of the semester.

 

But that will never happen if Keiji doesn’t start taking things seriously. Which is why he’s locked himself away with his laptop and textbooks in one of the study rooms at the library across campus.

 

He chews on the end of his pencil as he reads the page in front of him. Or tries to, anyways. It’s harder than it seems. None of the words in his reading seem to stick in his mind and vanish almost the instant after he reads them, like trying to hold water with his fingers. Keiji tries to pay attention, truly, but differential calculus is just so _boring_ , and Keiji just can’t seem to find any way to motivate himself. Even with the possible result of getting a higher grade in the class. He just doesn’t see the point.

 

Derivatives, functions, tangent lines, who even cares?

 

Sighing, Keiji drops his pencil onto the table and runs a hand through his hair, giving up on his studying for the moment. Several other students in the study room, Keiji notices, appear to be in the exact same boat, and some have completely jumped ship a long time ago. Not that Keiji can blame them.

 

He stares at one of the guys passed out on the table across from his and wonders whether his exhaustion is from a long night of studying, or a long night of partying. There’s an equal chance for either to be the case, considering the fact that Phi Kappa Delta hosted yet another party the night before. Bokuto had made sure to invite Keiji to it after the couch bonfire had settled down a bit, though Keiji ultimately ended up not going. He wonders briefly how it turned out. Whether it was as crazy as the one Keiji had gone to, or if the couch bonfire Keiji helped create was the pinnacle of insanity for this year. Thinking about that makes Keiji a little proud.

 

He really should get back to studying, maybe attempt his chemistry or modern physics homework if not his differential calculus assignment, but he’s really not in the mood. There’s only so much studying Keiji can do before he goes mad, and he’s reaching his limit for the day. He needs a break of some sort. Maybe go get some food from the nearest dining hall, even if it’s possibly inedible.

 

He’s debating whether or not to venture off campus and spend his meager allowance on actual food when an all-too-familiar figure plops down in the seat across from him, grin already in place.

 

“Fancy seeing you here,” Bokuto says, maybe just a little too loud.

 

Keiji glances about quickly to see if anyone’s glaring at him, but thankfully finds everyone still off in their own worlds, unaffected by Bokuto’s cheery demeanor. Maybe because they’re in one of the study rooms that doesn’t enforce the silence rule, and this kind of interruption is a normal thing. Keiji doesn’t know. He hasn’t been at this school long enough yet to know the ins and outs of its social expectations, except that partying means drinking an absurd amount and being a good student means giving up parties altogether. There is no in between.

 

“Didn’t see you at the party last night,” Bokuto continues. “You missed some excellent drinking games. This guy Kuroo— he’s part of Nu Kappa Mu and pretty much the coolest bro ever— got totally _hammered_ during beer pong and started singing Disney songs or something. And then the whole party became some sort of drunken sing along. You totally missed out.”

 

“I was busy,” Keiji replies. He pulls his textbook a little closer just for emphasis, (even though he totally hasn’t been paying attention to it for the past half hour), as if it’ll help chase Bokuto away. Force him back into his own territory of beer and couch burning and ignoring responsibilities that Keiji just can’t afford to be a part of any more. But Bokuto just leans closer, following Keiji’s textbook across the table.

 

“Watchu studying?” he asks. His grin is lopsided, and Keiji feels his stomach turn over completely. There’s no way Bokuto should be this cheerful this early in the day, especially after a night of partying. It just goes against the laws of the universe. Keiji is calling foul play.

 

“Differential calculus,” he murmurs in reply, looking off to the side. He feels Bokuto’s fingers sliding over his to touch the open page and happily relinquishes the book for his perusal, though he wonders if Bokuto can even understand the concepts Keiji’s been trying to learn. Bokuto doesn’t seem much like a math type. More like a business major, maybe in marketing or advertising. He’d be good at that with his vivacious personality.

 

Bokuto hums and flips through a couple of pages. “So you’re a math major then?”

 

“Engineering, actually.”

 

“Wow,” he breathes. There’s awe in his tone, and when he looks back up at Keiji, he’s practically beaming brighter than every fluorescent lightbulb in the entire room put together. “You must be super smart. I could never make sense of that stuff.”

 

And Keiji has to bite back his protest because, while he would be considered smart by typical standards, that doesn’t seem to matter much here. He’s still struggling in almost all of his core curriculum classes, and that doesn’t bode well for him. Intro to Modern Physics is really the only class Keiji seems to actually do well in, and that’s only because the material they’re studying fits together in a way Keiji somehow understands intrinsically.

 

“Things just kind of… work together, you know? It makes sense,” he answers. Or at least it does in his physics class, and probably in all the upperclassmen courses he’ll get to take in a few years as well. But only if he’s able to make it that far. He then can’t help adding, “if I study it enough, that is,” with a pointed look at the textbook Bokuto’s still holding, which Bokuto quickly passes back his way.

 

Keiji takes the book, closes it, and shoves it in his backpack, along with all the other textbooks he’s brought to the library with him. He’ll just have to take his schoolwork somewhere he can focus, which obviously isn’t the library right now. Not when Bokuto is sitting across from him with amusement plastered all over his face, looking like he’s just found a particularly intriguing problem that he wants nothing more than to solve. Keiji doesn’t think Bokuto’s stopped smiling even once since finding him.

 

There’s a small dimple on his left cheek when he smiles. Keiji hadn’t noticed before.

 

“You really shouldn’t push yourself so hard,” Bokuto says. “You gotta take a break every once in a while. Relax. Let loose.”

 

“I don’t really have time for that.”

 

“No, you just think you don’t.”

 

Keiji presses his lips together and looks down at his backpack, avoiding the knowing glint in Bokuto’s gold eyes. He fiddles with his fingers and says nothing, though privately Keiji wonders if there’s maybe some truth in what Bokuto said. Keiji knows himself, knows what he can be like, and what he’s attempting to do with this constant studying isn’t something that comes naturally to him. There’s too much daredevil inside of him— a trait his parents always said would get him in big trouble one day— and a tendency to get himself into crazy situations. Mostly because he’s bored and shameless. Kind of like how he’s feeling now in this too-quiet library with this clearly crazy guy in front of him and absolutely no desire to be doing what he really should be doing.

 

But no. Keiji has to focus. He promised himself he’d be more diligent in his school work, and that’s what he’s going to do, craving for adventure or not.

 

Keiji stands, pulling on his backpack in the process, and nods in Bokuto’s direction. “I should get going. It was nice to see you again, Bokuto,” he says, which causes Bokuto’s bright smile to drop straight into a pout. He looks just like a kid who’s had his favorite toy taken away, all the way down to his big, puppy dog eyes

 

“Akaashi,” he whines, still loud, as Keiji’s coming to believe is his only sound volume. And it’s weird that Keiji doesn’t actually mind it.

 

Keiji shakes his head. “I have things to do.”

 

Like studying. And eating. Maybe doing some laundry. Or more studying. Or maybe doing laundry _while_ studying, if Keiji’s feeling especially crazy.

 

He doesn’t need to know Bokuto to see that the guy’s disappointed though. There’s a frown on his face which just looks all wrong. Out of place between the faint laugh lines on Bokuto’s cheeks. Keiji could even swear Bokuto’s spiky, bleached hair actually drooped a little. And, for some reason, Keiji feels uncomfortable with the sudden change.

 

“I’ll get you back to a party at some point,” Bokuto says, but it’s almost in resignation, and that makes Keiji wonder whether he actually means the words or not. A part of him hopes that Bokuto does.

 

“Until then,” he answers. Then turns and walks swiftly from the study room, headed back towards his dorm for yet another exciting night of studying derivatives and chemical equations.

 

He doesn’t think about the way he pauses outside the room to look back at Bokuto, seeing him perk up just a little at Keiji’s parting words. Or the way his stomach flips at the sight.

 

* * *

 

The one thing Keiji learns over the following weeks is that Bokuto is nothing if not persistent.

 

His desk’s corkboard is covered in little slips of paper and fliers by the end of the month, all of them scribbled over with different dates and times in Bokuto’s excited and spiky handwriting. Invitations to different parties and mixers and events that Phi Kappa Delta has put on while Keiji spent his time in the library, studying. Much to Bokuto’s discontent, as the sophomore makes sure to point out every time they run into each other, which is, in all honesty, quite a bit. More than Keiji ever expected.

 

Chewing on the end of his pen, Keiji glares down at his textbook, thinking of all the times Bokuto’s “accidentally” come upon him while he was studying, or just “happened” to run into Keiji outside of the campus coffee shop at night, when Keiji was attempting to pull an ill-advised all-nighter. At this point, Keiji no longer believes his excuses. He’s willing to bet that Bokuto’s actually picked up on his normal schedule and is using that to his advantage, trying to get Keiji to abandon his books and return to the parties he’d sworn off of just a month ago.

 

The sad thing, though, is that it’s working.

 

Every time Keiji talks with Bokuto, (who, underneath all the alcohol and bravado is actually a lot quieter than Keiji thought he’d be), he’s tempted to follow Bokuto out of the library and back to the Phi Kappa Delta house. The itch inside of him makes his skin crawl with the need for excitement, the need to fill his craving. To do anything except bury his face in his textbooks as he should be doing, because God knows just how much help Keiji needs to get through his classes with a decent grade at this point. (A lot. The answer is a _lot_ of help.)

 

He throws his pen down on his desk and groans.

 

He just doesn’t understand anything in this chapter at all. No matter how much he studies, it doesn’t click. He isn’t coming to any sort of epiphany or revelation, and is only growing more and more confused as the hours pass, his head packed full with technical terms and definitions and equations that mean _nothing_ to Keiji because he _just doesn’t understand any of it_.

 

Maybe he should just give up. It’s not like he’s going to know any of this well enough for the test in a few days anyways. A break could be good for him. Could empty out his too-full brain and allow him to approach the material with new focus later. Maybe. It’s worth a shot at least, because Keiji _really_ can’t stand to figure out any more buffer equations.

 

(At what Ph will a .15M Cu2+ begin to precipitate as Cu(OH)2 when ksp for Cu(OH) is 1.6x10-19? Hell if Keiji knows. Gen chemistry can suck his dick for all he cares; he’s so over it.)

 

Sighing, he flips through his chemistry book, coming to a stop when he finds a small slip of paper stuck between two of the pages. Bokuto’s latest attempt. Keiji plucks the paper up and looks it over. The date is set for today, starting at about 8:30 pm, which was near an hour ago but it’s not like Keiji couldn’t still go if he wants to. The night is still young.

 

He thinks it over for a minute, weighing his options between a party that will almost certainly ruin him for classes tomorrow or watching another few episodes of _Breaking Bad_ on Netflix before turning in early…. and then he stands and grabs his jacket.

 

 _Fuck it_ , he decides. _Why the hell not?_

 

* * *

 

“You came!” Bokuto booms the second he sees Keiji from across the room. He’s loud and vibrant and has clearly already had a large amount of alcohol by the way he literally bounces through  the crowd of students to Keiji’s side, beaming like Keiji’s own personal sun. “I was beginning to think I’d never get you back here.”

 

“Well, that _was_ my original plan, you know.”

 

If possible, Bokuto’s grin grows even brighter. “And I ruined that for you?”

 

“Partially.”

 

“Good,” Bokuto laughs— loud, just like the rest of him when he’s careening towards being drunk. The last time Keiji heard that laugh was back at that first party all those weeks ago, except this time the sound causes a sort of fluttery feeling to fill him, warm and fond. It only grows stronger when Bokuto grabs his hand and starts dragging him across the room, all the while saying, “Come on! I have some people you absolutely gotta meet! They’re all gonna so surprised!”

 

Keiji barely has time to question _why_ Bokuto’s friends would apparently be surprised by his presence, or if, in fact, that means Bokuto’s actually _talked_ to his friends about Keiji even though they barely know each other, before he’s being pushed into a small circle of guys near the table of drinks. Their conversation stops, and Keiji can feel all of them turn to look his way.

 

“Oho ho ho,” one of them says— a tall guy with sharp eyes, an even sharper smirk, and hair that looks like it hasn’t seen a comb in years. The greek letters for Nu Kappa Mu stand out in white against his bright red sweatshirt, and Keiji briefly recalls Bokuto mentioning something about having a friend in that fraternity. Kuroo, he thinks the name is, or something like that. He wonders if this is that guy. “And who do we have here?”

 

The guy towers over him, looking far too interested with that Cheshire grin of his for Keiji to feel comfortable. But Keiji’s surrounded by strangers, and Bokuto’s right behind him, and he can’t cower away or retreat from the looming figure without bumping right into Bokuto’s solid chest.

 

Bokuto’s hand then claps down on Keiji’s and anchors him in place, right in the middle of the group of people. “You all owe me twenty bucks,” he proclaims smugly, which turns the Nu Kappa Mu guy’s attention from Keiji to Bokuto.

 

“Wait. This is _the_ Akaashi?”

 

Bokuto practically preens. “I told you he’d come back.”

 

“Holy fuck, dude,” possibly-Kuroo breathes with a look of pity at Keiji. “Let me get you a drink. You deserve more than a few beers for dealing with this idiot.”

 

There’s a squawk of protest from behind him, but Keiji ignores it in favor of taking the beer possibly-Kuroo is shoving at his face. He chugs down a good bit, (not really worrying at this point what the other guys might think of him as he usually might because Kuroo is abso-fucking-lutely right. He _does_ deserve a drink), while the guys around him laugh, and one of them— another Phi Kappa Delta member by the looks of it, shorter than Keiji, with lively eyes and a very odd haircut— pats Bokuto’s back consolingly.

 

“As if you have any room to talk, Kuroo,” he teases, and Kuroo throws a hand over his heart, like he’d just been wounded.

 

“Excuse you, Komi. I’m always kind and lovable.”

 

And even Keiji has to laugh at that.

 

It’s easy then, falling into the interactions of the group and letting his self-control go. Bokuto’s friends are all loud and energetic, with the exception of maybe Daichi, who keeps them all in line. (Though even Daichi is easily riled up by a few well-aimed comments from Kuroo, who, Keiji notices, can’t seem to keep his eyes off Daichi in his black and orange Kappa Sigma shirt.) But their large personalities, rather than being overwhelming, actually allow Keiji to settle comfortably in the background, where he can watch them all poke fun at each other with quiet amusement as they supply him with a steady stream of alcohol.

 

Keiji throws it all back. Everything they can hand to him, and then some more.

 

He doesn’t even care that he’s hurtling right past tipsy into the realm of flat-out drunk, or that he has a class at nine tomorrow morning that he definitely won’t be going to at this rate, or even that he’s probably going to wake up on one of Bokuto’s couches tomorrow morning feeling like utter shit. Keiji just wants to let go for the night, because he’s been good for near two months and he’s _tired_ of it all. He deserves a night of fun.

 

At some point, he ends up being pulled right into the heart of the dance floor by both Bokuto and Kuroo, though typically he’d avoid such a crush.

 

It’s crowded. Keiji is jostled left and right and all around by all the other drunken students gyrating wildly to the heavy bass of the sound system. Daichi has long disappeared in the crowd with some silver-haired student Keiji never had the chance to meet, while Komi is dancing with some other Phi Kappa Delta members only a few steps away. Though maybe flailing is a better adjective to describe the  crazy waving of his arms with the music’s beat. It’s a miracle he isn’t smacking people in the face with how crushed together everyone is. Meanwhile, Bokuto and Kuroo are jumping side by side with arms around each other’s shoulders, screaming song lyrics in a garbled mess Keiji can’t even hope to understand.

 

There’s no room to breathe at all in this mess, and Keiji _loves_ it.

 

He jumps alongside Bokuto and Kuroo, hands thrown high into the air with complete abandon, reveling in the pure freedom that comes with letting go of every inhibition and care. The bass pounds through his chest, vibrating in his very bones and drowning out every silly thought that crosses his mind, until he becomes nothing but an extension of the sound. A personification of the raw energy and exhilaration that floods the dance floor, pulsing in time to the music. And he lets himself forget for the moment about the chemistry equations waiting for him back in his dorm, and his now-broken promise to stop partying, and the engineering degree hanging in the balance, and he just lets himself enjoy.

 

He lets himself be free.

 

The music switches to something faster. Or maybe Keiji just thinks it does as his own heart rate speeds up. He’s lost track of the time and how many songs he’s danced through, but he knows he isn’t tired yet. The music sings through his veins and keeps him going, even as Kuroo stumbles off the dance floor to take a breather. Or maybe to hurl.

 

Keiji isn’t the only one drunk tonight, it seems.

 

He sways a bit on his feet. The alcohol and exhilaration are a heady combination, and he’s more than just a little intoxicated by it. His limbs feel light, almost buoyant, and he can already feel the easy grin of inebriation curling at the corners of his lips. There’s that itch in his gut too. The one pushing him to be wilder, to let loose even more, to live like no one else would dare. Right now it’s telling him to dance until he collapses, and Keiji is only too happy to oblige.

 

Strong hands wrap around his wrists as he sways again. “Easy,” Bokuto says in the soft lull between songs. “Maybe you should sit down for a minute.”

 

But Keiji doesn’t want to sit down. He’s too restless. His body just wants to move now that all his self-enforced restraints are gone, and who is Keiji to deny himself just a little more pleasure? He’ll be good again tomorrow. Tonight, he just wants to be crazy.

 

“Dance with me,” he says instead with a tiny smirk, using Bokuto’s grip on his wrists to pull him closer as the song changes again.

 

Something flashes in Bokuto’s golden eyes.

 

Whatever it is, it’s too quick for Keiji to fully comprehend with the startling amount of alcohol swimming through his system, but he _does_ notice the soft “alright” Bokuto murmurs as he steps right into Keiji’s personal space, standing warm and strong just inches away from Keiji’s unsteady form. He notices the warm breath fanning across his forehead, and the sudden scent of sweat and spice, and the large hands sliding from his wrists to his elbows— more in a steadying grip than anything else, but Keiji still notices.

 

He grins lopsidedly up at Bokuto. The flashing lights play over Bokuto’s tanned skin and bleached hair in mesmerizing patterns, and he realizes, not for the first time, just how attractive Bokuto actually is, but he pushes that thought away completely as the music picks up and they start to dance.

 

It’s by no means sexual. Not even sensual. They don’t even touch aside from Bokuto’s hands on his elbows, and his own hands on Bokuto’s forearms. But Keiji doesn’t care. They jump in time to the music, and it’s the most fun Keiji has had in months, if not years, though he doesn’t bother to stop and wonder why that is. If it’s just because of the dancing, or if maybe it’s due to _whom_ he’s dancing with. All he knows is his palms are on fire, and his head is swimming, and he’s grinning like a complete fool while Bokuto laughs right in his ear, full and rich. His stomach flips, becoming weightless for several long moments. Almost like he’s flying.

 

And Keiji won’t realize it until much later, but holy fuck, he’s already in way too deep.

 

* * *

 

“So you’re actually pledging Phi Kappa Delta?”

 

“I’ve said this four times already, Sarukui. Asking me again isn’t going to change anything.”

 

“It’s going to mess with your grades, you know.”

 

“And _you’ve_ said _that_ four times already. Once again, I can handle it.”

 

“Alright, I’m just making sure. You’re the one who didn’t want to go to the parties or mixers because you were too busy studying. I still can’t believe you went to that party last week without telling me. I mean honestly.”

 

“It was a last minute decision. It just kind of… happened.”

 

“Wow. Akaashi Keiji being spontaneous. This is something I never thought I’d see.”

 

“You just haven’t known me long enough.”

 

“Oho? You saying I’ll get to see more of this wild side?”

 

“I’m saying you’re going to be stuck with me for the next couple of years, so you’d better get used to it.”

 

* * *

 

 _Just relax,_ Keiji tells himself as the fall semester draws to an end and the spring semester looms over him. _Have fun. Plenty of time to study after things settle down._

 

The truth is, there’s not, but that’s easy to forget in the excitement of bids and pledging and all the general insanity involved in joining a fraternity.

 

Keiji and Sarukui both receive their bids for Phi Kappa Delta before the finals for fall semester even begin, along with two other classmates Keiji can never remember the names of. There are probably several others Keiji doesn’t know from different majors who’ll be joining as well, but he won’t get to meet them until the spring semester, when the new member education period begins. So instead, he and Sarukui hold their own little party in the safety of the dorms as brand new members of Phi Kappa Delta, with their bids sitting in a place of honor on top of Keiji’s bed.

 

In celebration of their inevitable, ill-advised, insane nose dive into Greek life, Sarukui and Keiji spend the better part of that Saturday afternoon nailing the stolen stop sign that started it all to the dorm room wall, right above Keiji’s bed. Almost like a badge of pride.

 

And it’s fine, at least for the moment. He’s well prepared for his finals even with the weekend of fun, and he leaves campus for winter break with the confidence that his grades are what they should be, so he can relax for a little bit.

 

 _There’s plenty of time to study,_ he tells himself again when he returns for the spring semester and gets thrown head first into the life of a fraternity. Meetings and parties and errands to run and bonding activities and late-night tests of loyalty. His mind is suddenly flooded with rules to follow and traditions to remember in place of the physics theories and statistics formulas he should have been memorizing, and Keiji quickly learns to live by a single phrase.

 

 _Fraternitas ante omnia._ Above all, brotherhood.

 

But that’s ok. It’s only a few weeks into the semester, and Keiji still has ages to catch up on the material before any midterms come around. What does it matter if he lets his grades drop just a little right now?

 

He’s more interested in the day to day dynamics of his new brothers anyways. And where he fits in with the entire group.

 

Phi Kappa Delta, Keiji finds, is a perfect match for him. It’s a little surprising at first, because he definitely imagined the group to be just as loud in normal situations as they were during their parties, but this turns out to be the complete opposite of reality.

 

On average, the Phi Kaps show themselves to be fairly quiet and laidback when they aren’t hosting some kind of event, save for some of the initiation rituals and all the random dance parties thrown by Bokuto whenever the house has been far too quiet for far too long. But Keiji doesn’t mind. It’s a good atmosphere, relaxed and welcoming, even to the brand new pledges, and Keiji slides right into the group dynamic as if he’d been a part of the fraternity all along.

 

He can’t move in yet, but he starts spending his free time at the Phi Kap house more and more, lounging on the couch while Konoha and Washio play video games, or helping Komi come up with something edible for everyone out of the weird assortment of food in the fridge, or— Keiji’s favorite— listening to Bokuto recount crazy stories from some of his past classes while basking in the warmth of his bright grin. And Keiji laughs and encourages Bokuto to keep talking because it’s all fine. He still has time.

 

His grades start to slip.

 

Several weeks into the spring semester, Phi Kappa Delta hosts its first big party, and Keiji sets aside all the statistics homework and computer programing reading he’s been assigned in order to be involved. Of course, being a pledge his involvement mainly consists of cleaning up the house and helping to provide drinks, but it doesn’t really matter when he finally gets to enjoy all his hard work with the rest of his brothers while wearing his official Phi Kappa Delta pledge shirt, identifying him clearly as one of the group. A member to be valued.

 

He feels a little guilty for putting off his schoolwork again, yet the feeling of camaraderie and excitement overpowers everything else until Keiji forgets all about his assignments for the weekend. And then, suddenly, it’s too late.

 

 _Oh well,_ he thinks. _I’ll just have to do better with the next one._

 

He stops turning in minor assignments.

 

There’s one night near the beginning of February when all the pledges are kidnapped from their dorm rooms by the older Phi Kaps and then brought to the campus’s practice soccer field.

 

The field lights aren’t on, but somehow the older members managed to get some small spotlights— the kind meant showcase houses and gardens even in the dead of night— to illuminate the area enough for Keiji and the other pledges to see several large buckets filled with water balloons arranged in a large circle on the grass. It isn’t hard to guess what’s about to happen, even with how cold the weather is and how poorly dressed all the pledges are, most still in their pajamas or boxers.

 

“Think of this as a character test,” Bokuto says to the pledge group at large, a sly grin stretched wide across his face. “If you aren’t man enough to handle this, you aren’t man enough to join Phi Kappa Delta.”

 

Unsurprisingly, this sets off a wave of outrage and determination in the pledges gathered. Even in those only wearing their boxers, for whom the cold would be the worst. Even in Keiji, who can already feel a good grade on his test tomorrow getting flushed down the drain.

 

He’s out of time to catch up with his classes. He really should go back to his dorm to get a good nights sleep so he can focus in class and remember all that he’d studied for his materials science class, and somewhere deep inside he knows this. But Bokuto’s standing there, smug as can be, seeming to believe that Keiji won’t go through with the water balloon fight, and Keiji can’t help but make it his personal mission to prove Bokuto wrong.

 

And in the fun of it all, time doesn’t seem to matter at all anymore.

 

Even when some of his professors start sending him concerned emails.

 

In the middle of February, the new member education period comes to an end and they’re introduced to their pledge brothers— the older fraternity members meant to give them support and advice for years to come, even beyond graduation. Though Keiji, being who he is, has to wonder how often that actually happens.

 

Keiji is a realist after all. Down-to-earth, responsible, and, for the most part, focused. Or at least that’s what he projects. Most of his fellow Phi Kaps see him as quiet and practical, the type to stay out of trouble as much as possible, unlike many of the other pledges (and even some of the older members). Like a calm in the storm.

 

Bokuto, by comparison, is a dreamer. He’s a constant force of energy, pushing and pulling and persuading people into doing what he wants, which most of the time is something dangerously crazy. And, good mood or bad, he’s always reaching for something bigger, something better, something more exciting. A true hurricane personified.

 

On the surface, the two of them seem like total opposites, completely unable to mesh together in any way.

 

So when Bokuto chooses to be Keiji’s pledge brother at the end of the education period, all of the other members, save for the two in question, are shocked. After their surprise has worn off though, most of them wholeheartedly approve of Bokuto’s choice, and it isn’t hard to tell that they’re hoping some of Keiji’s serious nature will rub off on Bokuto over the next few years. Keiji privately thinks they’re all giant idiots if they really believe that’s ever going to happen.

 

Bokuto just gives Keiji a winning grin.

 

He knows that there’s some crazy in Keiji too.

 

* * *

 

“Alright, plebes,” Konoha greets as he plops down on the couch beside Keiji. “We gotta talk initiation dares.”

 

Sarukui looks over at him curiously, but Keiji keeps his eyes glued to the Jenga game he and the other pledges were playing. He already knows what this conversation is going to involve, and he’s way more interested in pulling another block from a crucial balance point, leaving the tower unstable for the poor pledge after him. (That’s one of the best things about being the only engineering major in his pledge class. He knows how to balance things, and the others definitely do not.)

 

Konoha is undeterred by this lack of attention and merely watches them expectantly until one of the pledges, knowing it’s the only way to get Konoha to talk, plays right into his hands and asks, “What about initiation dares?”

 

Konoha grins. “I’m glad you asked!”

 

He claps his hands together, which must have been some sort of signal or something because suddenly Washio and Komi appear from nowhere to loom over the pledges with conspiratorial grins. Their aura edges on the intimidating side, and Keiji would have actually worried a bit if he didn’t already know what they were planning. But, try as they might, the three of them can never live up to Bokuto’s level of insanity when it comes to giving out dares, so Keiji is well prepared for whatever they decide to throw his way.

 

Leaning against the back of the couch, Komi explains, “So before we can induct you into this brotherhood—”

 

“This sacred and illustrious brotherhood,” Konoha interjects, and Komi nods in solemn agreement. Though Keiji just wants to snort.

 

“Yeah, before we can induct you into this sacred and illustrious brotherhood, you all have to prove your commitment. We have certain tasks for all of you to complete tonight at the party.”

 

That bit _does_ catch Keiji’s attention, and he finally looks away from the Jenga game with a frown. Because, while he’s not opposed to jumping through whatever hoops the older students set up, there’s no way he’s agreeing to this. Not with the mountain of homework piled on his desk from the past month. This is— or was, he supposes bitterly— his only free night to actually work on it. And he desperately needs this time to catch up to his classes at least a little before he completely flunks out.

 

“I’m not going tonight,” he tells them point blank, voice low and quiet. It’s not a tone he often takes, but he’s used it enough around the frat for them to know when he means business, and it’s slightly satisfying to watch Komi and Konoha’s gleeful expressions flicker with disappointment at his declaration.

 

At least it is until Komi whines, “Akaashiiiiiii,” and moves to drape himself over Keiji’s back, wrapping his arms around Keiji’s neck like a cage, keeping Keiji in his seat, unable to escape. “Have a little fun, why don’t you? It’s good for the soul.”

 

“This whole semester has been nothing but fun,” he argues, unswayed. “Now I have work to catch up on.”

 

He brushes Komi off and looks back at the game in front of him. He’d promised himself he’d work on his assignments as soon as he’d creamed his pledge class again, and that’s what he fully intends to do, no matter what plans the upperclassmen have for him.

 

It’s not like they can really complain. He’s done everything they’ve asked of him this entire time without any sort of comment, from making midnight beer runs to cleaning up the aftermath of their parties to handling Bokuto during his random mood swings when no one else wants to. Keiji has earned his night off, far more than any of the other pledges. The upperclassmen can’t take this away from him this time.

 

But then, off to the side, Washio snorts and shakes his head, mumbling, “Told ya he’d chicken out of it,” just loud enough for Keiji to hear. Keiji’s head snaps up.

 

“I’m not—” He stops, looking up at three smirking faces, and takes a deep breath. He really should give them more credit, because Keiji definitely walked right into their trap, and they know it. There’s no way he can back out now without them holding this over his head forever, which Keiji definitely doesn’t want. He sighs. “Fine. What’s your dare? I’ll do anything. Just try me.”

 

“Anything?” Komi repeats, leaning close.

 

There’s a sly glint in his eyes identical to that in both Konoha and Washio’s own as the two push some pledges aside to flank Keiji on the couch, trapping him. And now it’s Konoha’s turn to press into Keiji’s personal space and ask, “Even if we were to tell you to give Bokuto a lap dance at the party tonight?”

 

Keiji raises an eyebrow.

 

“Is that it?” he scoffs. “Easy.”

 

The three really need to step up their game. He’s done much worse over this past year, and the proof of that is hanging on Keiji’s own wall, right above his bed. This is nothing to him. Just a little dance, maybe a little teasing, and at least it’s for someone Keiji is comfortable with. Bokuto’s spent enough time with him over the past few months to know just how crazy Keiji can actually be sometimes, so it’s not like this is anything new. Bokuto won’t be shocked by a simple dance, or ask any questions, or make it awkward. If anything, he’ll just laugh and play along, and then it will be over with.

 

At least that’s what Keiji thinks. The expectant, almost gleeful expressions on Komi, Konoha, and Washio’s faces might say otherwise.

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe you’re actually doing this,” Sarukui says to him later that night, when the party’s going full swing and all the older Phi Kaps, minus Bokuto who wasn’t let in on the secret, are watching Keiji’s every move. He sounds more amused than disbelieving though. Probably because, after over six months of friendship, he’s become well acquainted with both Keiji’s steadfast determination and craving for adrenaline, and he knows just how far Keiji is willing to go for this. “Do you think any of the others are going to film this? I want to remember it for the rest of my life.”

 

Keiji grimaces. “I don’t know, Sarukui. And I really don’t want to.”

 

Honestly, Keiji kind of just wants to get this all over with. He doesn’t want to know about who’s watching or who’s filming or who’s making what comments. He’s ignoring it all in favor of watching Bokuto work the crowd from across the room, waiting for the perfect time to put this into motion so he can prove to Komi, Konoha, and Washio— those sneaky bastards— just how little he cares about doing something like this. Even if he cares a lot more than he’s willing to say.

 

Somehow, in agreeing to this dare, he’d forgotten to take into account the amount of people that’d be present at the party to view this spectacular, inevitable fail of a lap dance. And while a crowd’s never _truly_ bothered him before, and isn’t exactly bothering him now, he just feels a little… odd about the entire situation. Not entirely like himself.

 

After all, it’s one thing to give your pledge brother a lap dance in front of your fraternity, who might tease but would never judge or hold such a weird dare against you. It’s quite another to do the same in front of a very large crowd of absolute strangers.

 

But Keiji isn’t about to back down. Not after what he said that afternoon. He’d declared it would be easy, and so it will be. And if he has to chug down several rounds of alcohol to make it so, then so be it.

 

It takes four beers for him to stop thinking about what the crowd might do if he suddenly starts grinding all up on his frat brother, which Sarukui points out isn’t as unusual as it seems. It’s a common dare for new pledges in all the different fraternities, and in fact, one of the guys in their shared rhetorical writing seminar had to do some sort of strip tease at the Nu Kappa Mu party almost two weeks ago, so it isn’t like Keiji’s initiation will shock anyone in this house. It’s actually fairly mild compared to what it could have been.

 

Five beers, and Keiji’s starting to bob his head along with the heavy music, feeling significantly lighter and looser than he has since being given his dare. The actual dancing clearly won’t be the difficult part of this mission. Already, his feet are tapping against the floor, and he has to hold himself back from joining the dancing crowd in the middle of the room, where he knows he’d get lost and forget all about his task, and Keiji isn’t about to let that happen. Nope. No way. Not with all the excited, and slightly impatient, looks being sent his way by his fraternity brothers, who’d never let him live the mistake down if he did.

 

Six beers and three tequila shots, and Keiji’s realizing this whole thing isn’t so bad. Really, it could be worse. He could be giving a lap dance to say… Washio, who really isn’t Keiji’s type, so to speak. Bokuto’s at least attractive. Keiji’s a big fan of his crazy hair and expressive eyes, and he tries not to think about Bokuto’s drool-worthy muscles. His pledge brother works out almost daily, lifting twice the amount Keiji can, and the effort really shows. Just thinking about it makes something flip over and tighten in the pits of Keiji’s stomach.

 

In a way, he’s actually starting to look forward to this dare. It’s still way more embarrassing than Keiji would like, but it could be worse.  

 

Then the perfect opportunity presents itself, coming in the form of Konoha and Komi. They commandeer Bokuto from whatever friend group he’s engaged with and force him to sit down on one of the empty couches near the stereos, where everyone will be able to see Keiji’s performance. It’s a miracle they get Bokuto to stay on the couch for more than a minute, honestly, and Keiji knows that if he’s going to do this it has to be now, before Bokuto’s up and running around again. The look Konoha briefly sends him over his shoulder is proof enough of that.

 

Nodding at Konoha, he chugs down the rest of his beer and starts striding purposefully across the room before he can rethink this whole adventure.

 

Bokuto’s face lights up when he sees Keiji headed his way, a crooked grin pulling at the corners of his mouth and his gold eyes gleaming. He looks excited, nearly bursting at the seams, the way he does whenever he wants to tell Keiji something interesting. Keiji almost feels tempted to just let Bokuto talk his ear off as usual instead, because that honestly feels like the better option in this situation, but then Konoha and Komi disappear from view and some up-beat, slightly sultry song starts playing, and then it’s too late for Keiji to stop what he’s already set into motion.

 

Bokuto doesn’t even blink when Keiji stops right in front of him and places his hands on Bokuto’s shoulders, like it’s completely natural for them to be interacting this way for no reason even when it’s not. But Bokuto, as usual, just plows on forward without taking in the situation and beams at Keiji like a tiny sun. “Hey Akaashi! Did you see that—”

 

Keiji interrupts him with a finger against his lips and a soft “shhhh.”

 

He can’t handle a conversation right now with what he’s about to do. Can’t let it take away his determination or change his focus. He’s committed to this whole dare already, and god help him he’s going to see it through to the end, even if he can already feel heat crawling up his neck and into his cheeks from sheer embarrassment.

 

Bokuto pulls back a bit, surprised, and then his eyes widen. For the first time, he seems to realize the position they’re in— Keiji standing between Bokuto’s legs, way closer than he needed to be, practically kneeling on the couch, with his hands fluttering hesitantly across Bokuto’s shoulders and collarbones. His gaze darts past Keiji and around the room, taking in the situation as a whole, and this sparks something inside of Keiji’s chest.

 

Bokuto’s attention should be on him right now. Should be completely focused on Keiji’s performance. Should be completely entranced. The situation is a little odd, Keiji will readily admit, but it’s still a performance of sorts, so Bokuto’s undivided attention is absolutely required. Keiji’s not about to dance his way to mortification for someone who won’t appreciate it, and he’s not feeling magnanimous enough to forgive Bokuto’s wandering eyes.

 

He drags his fingers down Bokuto’s chest as he steps back, the movement pulling Bokuto’s gaze right back to him, and Keiji throws him what he hopes is a confident smirk. He doesn’t know how effective it is with the flush across his face, but he doesn’t let himself think about that.

 

He’s never actually given anyone a lap dance before, so he’s not entirely sure what he’s doing, but he figures losing himself in the music is a good place to start. The song has gotten louder since Keiji started, and he lets it wash over him like satin over skin. It seeps through him, saturating his veins as his hips begin to sway. His blood pounds right along with the beat, the rhythmic thump, thump, thump of his heart echoing through his chest right along with the heavy bass. Slowly, he lifts his arms into the air, deliberately sliding them up his own torso as he does so, and rolls his hips from side to side.  

 

The faint cheers and catcalls in the background from onlookers keeps him going and he pivots on his heel so his back is facing Bokuto. He glances over his shoulder to meet Bokuto’s eyes— no longer surprised, but knowing, almost expectant, like he’s been predicting this sort of thing would occur all along— and then drops his hips to grind tortuously close to Bokuto’s lap. He sees Bokuto bite back a grin.

 

It’s good Bokuto’s amused by all this, because otherwise Keiji would be completely mortified by his own, sudden daring. He never expected himself to be this bold, and doesn’t really know what he’s doing or how far he’s actually supposed to take this thing. He’s just going off the small bit of knowledge he’s acquired from friends over the years and letting his body do all the work. And he supposes that’s good enough.

 

Fingers ghost over his back, over the small sliver of bare skin between his tshirt and jeans, and then he feels Bokuto’s hands grip his waist and gently guide his movements.   

 

Keiji closes his eyes and abandons himself to Bokuto’s whim. He sways and twists, putty between Bokuto’s hands, which know just how to handle him. Never straying from the safety of Keiji’s hips, light enough to feel like a breeze, except for the small moments where his fingers twitch and tighten involuntarily, and it fills Keiji with a sense of power that’s both exhilarating and terrifying, knowing he’s the one creating these reactions in someone he’s always been so drawn to.

 

Every eye in the house is on him and Bokuto now, Keiji can feel it. But rather than being embarrassed as he thought he’d be, Keiji revels in the attention. He soaks it in, lets it spur him on, turns their cheers into a sign that he’s doing something right, though he’s hardly doing anything at all.

 

 _Look at me_ , his thoughts preen under their rapt gazes. _Look at how captured you all are by me. See how I can bring you to your knees._

 

And he probably could, if he so wished. Keiji’s well aware of this fact now.

 

He smirks, then turns under Bokuto’s hands to face him. Bokuto tilts his head back, eyes glazed, to meet Keiji’s gaze as he shifts forward, stepping as close to the couch and to Bokuto as he possibly can. Biting his bottom lip, Keiji runs his hands through his hair, around his neck, down his chest, to cover Bokuto’s hands still on his hips. Then he rolls his entire body once, twice, three times to the music, a slow, sensual undulation to match the heavy beat.

 

And then it’s over.

 

The song hits its final chord and cuts out, and the silence in its absence shocks Keiji quite forcibly from the trance he’d fallen into while dancing, like having a bucket of ice cold water dumped over him. Glancing down, he sees that Bokuto’s not doing much better.

 

It reminds him a bit of the way a bubble pops at the tip of a finger. His awareness, so focused on Bokuto just moments before, bursts all about the room, taking in the cheering students, the approving nods from Konoha, Komi, and Washio, the teasing wolf whistles from the rest of his pledge class, the hands still clasped loosely on his waist. It all comes rushing in at once, but with the overload nothing sticks. Nothing except the wild applause and the dazed expression on Bokuto’s normally-lively face.

 

Keiji steps back. The distance forces Bokuto’s hands to release him, and they fall limply into Bokuto’s lap, but already Keiji misses their presence— the warmth seeping through his tshirt, the thumbs gently pressing into his sides, their weight leaning against his hip bones. He misses them even more when the crowd of students sweeps in and forces him even further away from Bokuto, passing him about the room so that everyone can comment on what a good dancer he is and how daring his performance was and that he absolutely has to come to this other frat’s party next week, and Keiji just… isn’t feeling it anymore. He isn’t having fun. And it’s strange.

 

“That was quite a show, man,” Sarukui comments once Keiji’s able to escape from the crowd. He throws an arm over Keiji’s shoulders and grins. “Where’d you learn to dance like that?”

 

“Nowhere,” he answers, but he’s distracted.

 

Across the room, Bokuto is lounging across the couch with his head in Kuroo’s lap, laughing at something the other male apparently said or did, as usual. It’s a common sight, one Keiji has been subject to viewing over a hundred times since joining Phi Kappa Delta, but when Bokuto reaches up to mess with Kuroo’s hair and pat his cheek, a powerful wave of irritation rushes through him hot and fast. And then his stomach completely drops, because honestly, he is well and truly fucked.

 

What kind of messed up idiot falls for their insane, loud, stupidly attractive pledge brother?

 

Akaashi fucking Keiji, that’s who.

 

Of fucking course.

 

* * *

 

He feels like he’s back in high school, having his first crush all over again. Except, this time, it’s way worse.

 

Instead of sighing over some too tall, too gangly boy with braces and acne scars that Keiji was too afraid to talk to, he finds himself completely entranced in the aftermath of that party by Bokuto’s bronzed skin, bleached hair, and flashing smile, and he isn’t sure how to handle it. His stomach flips over and flutters so violently in Bokuto’s presence now that Keiji swears half the time he’s about to throw up. Not too mention how flustered and tongue-tied he gets, words sitting heavily on his tongue, refusing to come out. He’s just lucky he’s always been the quiet type around Bokuto while sober, or else Bokuto would have noticed just how speechless Keiji’s sudden realization had made him.

 

And it’s all very strange. And awkward. And stupid. And Keiji has no idea what to do.

 

At least in high school he only had one class with his crush and could avoid him the rest of the time. There’s no way for him to avoid Bokuto even if he tried, and he _does_ try at first. He tries up until the moment he realizes that Bokuto is literally _everywhere_ in his life— in the Phi Kappa Delta house, in the library, at the campus coffee shop, passing Keiji on campus between classes— and then Keiji just gives up and accepts his fate, along with all the stomach butterflies that come with it.  

 

He wants to curse God, or Buddha, or whoever/whatever rules this universe for sticking him with these stupid fucking feelings for his crazy train-wreck of a pledge brother. Wants to scream at the sky and beat the ground. To rip out his heart and stomp all the feelings away. Maybe even dig a deep, deep hole to disappear in so he never has to face Bokuto ever again. (He could live underground, he thinks. Make a tunnel system, or at least some sort of cavern. He’s confident enough in his engineering skills to create something that won’t collapse for at least a few years.)

 

Keiji does none of these things, however. Even when Bokuto corners him in the library with a huge smile and a giant latte from Keiji’s favorite coffee shop. Or when he walks Keiji to his next class one Friday afternoon just because he’s already done with classes for the day and feels like talking to Keiji. Or even when Keiji’s shivering one night while their frat is at some baseball game and Bokuto insists that Keiji take his jacket.

 

“I don’t really need it anyways,” he says, his grin almost blinding. “And it looks way better on you.”

 

It’s ridiculous how proud Keiji is for not just melting into a puddle of warmth and gooey feelings right then and there. Though he definitely wants to with the expression on Bokuto’s face. Somehow, impossibly, he’s glowing even brighter than usual, and it’s killing Keiji on the inside. Slowly. Painfully. Without any mercy.

 

“Look, if you like this guy that much, you just need to tell him,” Kenma replies when Keiji tells him all about this while hiding in the chemistry labs a week later. It’s the longest Keiji’s spent in the labs since the beginning of the semester, (which is almost sad if Keiji stops to think about it), and most of that time is spent being judged and chided by Kenma, whom he’d become close with in his general chemistry class last semester. And Keiji just groans because, as usual, his friend makes it sound so easy when it most certainly is not.

 

How is one supposed to tell their pledge brother they might have fallen head over heels for them and their stupid fucking smile? Especially when Keiji isn’t even sure what Bokuto’s sexuality is.

 

Sure, he’s never really seen Bokuto flirting with a girl, but that doesn’t mean Bokuto isn’t interested in them. Maybe he’s bi. Maybe he’s straight. Maybe the way he acts around Keiji is the way he acts around all of his close friends, because lord knows that kid is way too enthusiastic and outgoing for his own good. He’ll lay in someone’s lap and mess with their hair and sling his arms around their shoulders without second thought, giving out his bright smiles like they cost absolutely nothing to anyone that catches his eyes. Bokuto’s smile makes Keiji’s heart leap and his head spin, but how is he supposed to know which smiles are meant just for him when Bokuto literally fawns over anything that breathes?

 

It’s alarming to him because Keiji realizes that even though he feels like he’s known Bokuto for forever, he really doesn’t know him at all. And Keiji doesn’t like that.

 

Sighing, he rests his forehead against the smooth surface of the lab table. “You don’t get it, Kenma. I’m stuck with this guy no matter what. If I ruin our friendship over this, I’m going to be fucked for the next two years, at least.”

 

“Sounds to me like you’re already fucked,” Kenma deadpans, unconcerned, unimpressed. “And get your head off the table. You don’t know what chemicals are on it.”

 

Keiji doesn’t move, but Kenma’s right. And not just about the chemical thing.

 

No matter what Keiji does, he’s still completely screwed. He thinks about it— really, truly thinks about it— and tries to come up with some way around it, but he can find only one path to happiness in this entire situation, and it’s the one with the least chance of success. And it fucking _sucks_ , but that’s the way it is.

 

Maybe that should have made him more bold in his decision, knowing that, regardless of what happens, he’s going to be miserable anyway. Maybe it should have encouraged him to try and reach for that one path to happiness. However, thinking it over, that happiness seems so far out of reach for him that Keiji just doesn’t see the point in even trying. He only sees Bokuto’s disgust, his discomfort, his rejection of all things having to do with Keiji. Even their friendship.

 

So yes, Keiji’s screwed regardless of what he does. He’s just… a little _less_ screwed if he keeps this all to himself. And, honestly, he’d rather suffer in silence than ruin both his college experience and one of the best friendships he’s ever had.

 

(Why try to fix something that isn’t broken, after all? Even if Keiji really, really wants something more.)

 

“You know, for someone so smart, I never thought you’d be so stupid,” Komi tells him over lunch, when it’s just the two of them in the tiny dining hall on the edge of campus. He looks disgruntled, possibly because he had to literally track Keiji down in order to have this conversation, and he violently spears some questionable looking chicken with the end of his fork as he adds, “Good lord, you both are so obvious. And so slow. I expected that of Bokuto, but not you, Akaashi.”

 

“What are you even talking about?” Keiji sighs. Komi nearly skewers him with his fork.

 

“You and Bokuto. And your totally obvious crushes on each other,” he says, as if just stating facts. “I mean, he introduced you to Kuroo and me long before you decided to pledge, for god’s sake. He wouldn’t have even bothered if he didn’t like you.”

 

Keiji feels his neck burn, and he turns away, hands tightening around the scratched, plastic cup he’d filled with soda like a lifeline. “You’re exaggerating.”

 

“I wish,” Komi snorts. He points his fork accusingly at Keiji. “Listen. Bokuto _likes_ you. Wants to do all sorts of gay, cheesy, couple-y things with you. And you really gotta buck up, stop hiding, and face this like a man. Why else do you think we dared you to give him a lap dance in the first place?”

 

Keiji nearly chokes. “Are you fucking serious?”

 

“Well, technically it was Kuroo’s idea. But yes.”

 

Of course. Of fucking course it was Kuroo’s idea. Keiji isn’t even surprised by this, just knowing how Kuroo is. But getting the rest of the guys in on this too? Really?

 

“Are you telling me,” Keiji says after a moment, eyes narrowed on Komi, “that the four of you have been acting as Bokuto’s wingmen, and have been trying to hook him and me up this entire time?”

 

Calmly, Komi nods and continues picking at his lunch with ease. “Basically,” he says through another mouthful of chicken. “But I think you’re ignoring the more important information that Bokuto— the love of your life, for some godawful reason— also has a big, gay crush on you. And you should probably do something about that, because it’s driving the rest of us insane.”

 

“Oh, fuck off,” Keiji mumbles, but only halfheartedly because he can’t ignore the way his stomach suddenly somersaults at Komi’s words.

 

It’s almost suffocating, these mixed feelings of excitement and anxiety rushing through him. He doesn’t dare to hope, because he’s learned the hard way just how swiftly hoping can lead to a broken heart; but what if Komi’s right? What if there really is something more to Bokuto’s actions than simple friendship? What if Bokuto is just as nervous as he is about wrecking something so new and precious and is holding himself back?

 

These questions keep him up at night, as loud as the obnoxious neon signs cutting through the darkness of his room from the street outside his dorm, while Keiji ponders over what Komi said, and over what he should do in response.

 

He feels like he needs to take the lead in this, since the existence of Bokuto’s four wingmen seems to indicate his total lack of personal skill in the romance department, but Keiji isn’t sure where to start. He’s never asked someone out himself, having more often been the one getting asked out instead, and even knowing about Bokuto’s shared interest doesn’t make this any easier or less intimidating for Keiji, who tries to come up with some sort of plan of action while walking to class the next day.  

 

How does one go about asking their pledge brother on a date? Should he be all casual about it? Should he go a more formal route? And then where should they go on said date? Dinner? Coffee? A party? Isn’t that what they do already?

 

He’s out of his depth with this. And even that little itch for excitement, the one that got him into this whole mess way back when with the drinking and the stolen stop sign, has completely vanished, fucking useless thing that it is.

 

Eventually, he pulls out his phone and scrolls through his contacts, looking for someone to help with his dilemma.

 

He doesn’t bother considering any of his friends from high school, all of whom he’s lost contact with over the past year since going to different universities. And he refuses to speak to Komi or Kuroo or any of the other guys about this, knowing the kind of weird spectacle they’d somehow turn his confession into, and Keiji’s not really up for that. He considers asking Sarukui, but rejects that idea almost immediately on the basis of how awkward that conversation would make them both feel. And Kenma’s already told him to just suck it up and tell Bokuto how he feels flat out.

 

There’s really only one person left for Keiji to call then.

 

“Keiji,” his mom greets, sounding surprised. Keiji supposes he can’t blame her for that. He can’t even remember the last time he called. “Is something wrong? I thought you’d be busy with midterms this week.”

 

Keiji freezes on the sidewalk. His stomach drops straight out of him.

 

In all the insanity of the past few weeks, Keiji had forgotten all about midterms. Which was a terrible thing for him to do, really, seeing as how his grades are hanging by a thin thread at the moment and his midterms are one of the only chances he’ll have to bring those grades back up. And he is so fucking screwed, oh my god.

 

“I’m heading to the library right now,” he lies through his teeth, though he makes a silent promise to grab his books from the dorm and lock himself in one of the library’s study rooms from here until the end of exams as soon as he gets off the phone. “I just wanted to ask some advice.”

 

“Does it have to do with a girl?” she asks, though her tone is teasing, as usual. Keiji rolls his eyes.

 

“No, Mom. You know it doesn’t.”

 

“A boy then.”

 

His silence is telling enough.

 

He hears his mom chuckle on the other end of the line, warm and comforting, like a blanket just out of the dryer. And it’s so familiar that Keiji just closes his eyes and pretends for a second that he’s back home, where his grades and relationships and crazy stunts don’t matter. Where he can just relax and live a simple, uncomplicated life.

 

“So tell me about him,” his mom says after a moment. Keiji imagines her curled up on her favorite couch in her pajama pants and black frame glasses, some novel or self-help book sitting in her lap, and he smiles.

 

“He’s an idiot,” Keiji finally answers. “He does the craziest things, and always drags me along with him. And I swear he views the whole world as some sort of playground or something. Like a giant five year old. I feel like I’m babysitting him half the time.” Keiji pauses, thinking back on their most recent interactions, (the latte, the jacket, the smiles that can put the sun to shame), and feels his entire body grow warm. “But he also makes me feel like… me.”

 

Looking up at the overcast sky, he lets himself think on what he’d just said for a second, and realizes that it’s absolutely true. He’s never felt as comfortable in his own skin as he has these past few months, hanging around with Bokuto, who always seems to draw out sides of his personality that Keiji never knew existed. And it’s weird, and makes him feel a bit vulnerable, but it’s also something wonderful that Keiji never wants to stop experiencing.

 

He releases a slow breath.

 

“Mom,” he says, his voice almost shaking, “I think I might really love this boy.”

 

* * *

 

Far from making him feel better, the phone call with his mom actually leaves Keiji feeling more confused and nervous than before. Leaves him questioning, off-balance, unsure of what he should do. Unsure of what he _wants_ to do. And, even worse, their conversation also reminds Keiji of a looming threat he can no longer afford to ignore, crush on Bokuto or not— namely, his grades.

 

It’s probably for the best, to be honest, considering just how muddled his relationship with Bokuto is. It gives him something else to focus on and freak out about besides his feelings for his ever-confusing pledge brother— a welcome distraction from his violent, dueling desires to either grab Bokuto’s face and kiss him senseless, or to lock Bokuto in his room and have his way with him. Both are tempting options, and only grow more tempting with every second he spends in Bokuto’s presence, staring at his remarkably firm ass and swoon-worthy arms. Neither, however, are actually conducive to deciding how to approach Bokuto about his feelings. Nor to fixing the grades which have been steadily plummeting the entire semester.

 

He’s startled and dismayed when he sees his current scores, which are far lower than he ever expected. It sends a wave of shock straight through his body, followed shortly after by a wave of sheer panic.

 

For the first time since the beginning of the semester, he’s realizing just how little he remembers from all his classes and lectures.

 

Statistics is a complete no-go, existing as a giant, blank page within his mind. He tries picking about his brain for any fragments of equations or graphs he might be able to draw knowledge from, but only comes up with words like “z-score” and “Bayesian probability” and “fat tails”— the terminology of which Keiji can’t even begin to guess. It’s a similar case with his world literature class. He recognizes the titles of the works— _The Iliad, The Medea, Tales of the Heike, Inferno, Anna Karenina_ — but he can’t for the life of him remember what any of the books are about. Did he even read any of them in the first place?

 

But at least those classes are easier to bullshit through than his computer programing and engineering chemistry classes, both of which seem like foreign languages to Keiji. He has no idea where to even start with them, and looking through his textbooks is no help. Even with engineering physics, arguably his easiest and most favorite class, he’s totally lost.  

 

And, of course, he has no one to blame for this but himself.

 

How did Keiji let it get this far? He’s better than this. He knows he is. Why did he let himself get so distracted by the frenzy of fraternity life?  Midterms are nearly here, and Keiji knows he’s woefully unprepared.

 

He’s running out of time now, sand slipping handful by messy handful to the bottom of his academic hourglass before his very eyes. Keiji tries to grasp at every second. He avoids the parties and the bars and the late night adventures with his frat, and buries himself in textbooks in a desperate attempt to somehow acquire two months of knowledge in time for his tests. Maybe if he tries hard enough, he’ll be able to absorb what he needs through osmosis.

 

The physics section of the campus library becomes his new home, complete with blankets, chargers for his electronics, and a decent stash of junk food to get him through each day. There’s a small table in the back corner, pushed against a floor-length window that looks out on the library garden and cocooned in back by multiple bookshelves, where Keiji sets up base with his fortress of study guides and towering stacks of textbooks. And he just sort of… stays there. Whenever he can. Showing up insanely early and leaving insanely late at night.

 

It’s a convenient system, and one that really works. He stays admirably focused and on task for the first two days of his self-imposed exile to the library, and actually manages to learn some of what he needs to know, though he’s still not as confident about the material as he knows he needs to be. It’s just a bonus that Bokuto can’t find his hiding spot, and so can’t attempt to coax him back to the easygoing lifestyle he’d been so foolishly enjoying this whole time with that easy smile and those gleaming, gold eyes that make Keiji so weak in the knees. At least not at first.

 

Bokuto finds his hiding place after only three days.

 

Maybe it’s because he’s lucky, or maybe he just knows Keiji well enough to know where he’d retreat; whatever it is, it sends Bokuto straight for him before Keiji has time to even think of escaping. He prepares himself for an argument instead, reciting all the reasons and excuses he might be able to give Bokuto for the clearly unhealthy way he’s handling his time in his head while he waits for his pledge brother to speak. But the argument never comes. Just a large thermos of coffee and a sandwich from the cafe across campus, thrust into Keiji’s shocked hands.

 

“You need to eat,” Bokuto says softly. “Just take a short break for food. You can study more afterward.”

 

Keiji just nods.

 

It’s weird, in a way, being looked after by Bokuto like this. He’s always known about Bokuto’s caring side, but usually it’s loud and obnoxious— like Bokuto dragging Keiji away from his books and into some kind of social event to keep Keiji from overworking himself, or making a ton of lame puns just to get Keiji to smile when he’s feeling down. This, Keiji thinks, is vastly different.

 

This is quiet, tender, understanding, affectionate. This is Bokuto bringing food to him instead of the other way around, and him offering to review as much of statistics and world literature as he can recall with Keiji, and him softly asking Keiji to get sleep tonight instead of working through the early hours. Asking him to take breaks now and then, even if only for a few minutes. Never pushing, only suggesting. Reminding him to take care of himself too.

 

And Keiji has never been more grateful, or more in love.

 

He eats the sandwich as Bokuto asks, and promises to himself that as soon as midterms are over with, and his grades are back where they should be, he’ll properly thank Bokuto for all his help. Preferably by taking him out to dinner. Maybe making out with him some. (Or making out with him a lot).

 

 _Just a few more days,_ he swears, looking at his calendar, where the exam dates are marked in bold, red ink. _Just a few more days, and a bit more time._

 

* * *

 

Keiji takes his tests. He fails almost every single one.

 

* * *

 

“Bud, you are _wasted_ ,” Sarukui says— well, shouts really— over the noise of the party. His expression is torn between impressed and horrified, which Keiji would probably take as a warning to slow down on the alcohol intake if he were any more sober than he actually is. (Which is to say, not sober at all). Instead, Keiji stares at his friend’s raised eyebrows and twitching lips with amusement.

 

“’M _fine_. ‘S fine. Just havin fun, y’know,” Keiji laughs, waving one of his hands, which happens to be the hand holding his cup of beer. The cool liquid sloshes all over his hand and onto the floor in a giant puddle, and Keiji laughs again. “Whoops.”

 

“Oh my god,” Sarukui mutters, whether out of concern or mirth, Keiji can’t tell, and really doesn’t care to. At least not until Sarukui reaches out to pluck to cup of alcohol from Keiji’s hand. “Ok. Alright. I think that’s enough beer for you, and no,” he says over Keiji’s slurred protests, “you aren’t getting this back. At least not until you’ve had some water and some bread and maybe a short nap or something.”

 

Sobering up is the _last_ thing Keiji wants to do right now, but he doubts Sarukui will actually listen to him. And that’s a little annoying, if he’s being honest, because he damn well knows his own limits, knows how to take care of himself just fine, and, ok, maybe he wants to dive headfirst into self-destruction tonight, but man who cares? That’s Keiji’s call. Even if he knows he’ll regret it come morning.

 

He grumbles and whines— because what Sarukui’s saying is just _unfair_ , come _on_ — but then very nearly tips over, face-first, in a sad attempt at reclaiming his stolen beer, and is saved only by Sarukui’s arm catching him about the waist. Head spinning, his body slumps, too overcome by vertigo and drunken lethargy, and he glowers down at the ground.

 

Alright, so maybe Sarukui has a point.

 

Maybe.

 

It’s true he’s had a lot to drink already, the effects of which he feels throughout his entire body. His limbs feel numb and heavy under the weight of eight… maybe ten… shit, Keiji can’t even remember how many beers he’s had, but he knows it’s a lot. (There was some liquor mixed in there too at some point, he’s pretty sure. Vodka maybe, or tequila. Most likely tequila from the hazy memory he has of taking shots in the middle of a cheering crowd. Keiji’s never really liked vodka shots.)

 

The point is, Keiji knows he’s had far more than his usual share of alcohol in a much shorter amount of time than usual, but dammit he needs the sweet oblivion of inebriation right now. Needs the rush in his head and warmth in his veins and slur of his tongue. Needs to forget the fact he’s practically failing out of his major’s program with no backup plan to cushion the fall. No branch to grab onto to save his already doomed engineering degree.

 

He’s basically thrown his entire career— the one he’s been planning and working for ever since his sophomore year of high school— right out the proverbial window, and Keiji has no one to blame for this but himself. Forgive him for wanting to drown that dismal thought in the pleasure of alcohol.

 

“I really hate you right now,” Keiji mutters into Sarukui’s shoulder, where he’s buried his face in a sort of silent surrender. “I really, really do. Seriously. So much hate.”

 

He feels Sarukui’s laugh more than hears it, his friend’s shoulders shaking with every guffaw.

 

“I know you do,” is Sarukui’s eventual answer, choked out between all the laughter. Keiji just grumbles back.

 

There’s a hand against his spine, shifting him, dead weight that he is, to lean more against Sarukui’s side than his chest. Then suddenly, they’re moving. Keiji’s feet shuffle along as Sarukui half-carries him across the room, past all the sweaty dancers pumped up on booze and the potheads in their cloying clouds of smoke and his fellow drunkards collapsed all around the edge of the room, right to the foot of the stairs, where Sarukui says, “Let’s find you somewhere quiet, yeah?”

 

And Keiji must agree, because somehow he finds himself curled up in the only unoccupied room in the entire house, (seriously, how many people are having sex right now? There should be a limit or something), not long after, contemplating the sad chain of events his life has now become while staring at the peeling, white ceiling. Which is where Bokuto finds him.

 

The door swings open with a loud _bang_ , which would have made Keiji jump or flinch or something if not for how sleepy he feels bundled up in the soft, warm bed, limbs like lead. He lifts his head just high enough to see Bokuto’s bulky frame filling the doorway, hall lights highlighting him from behind and bouncing off his bleached-white hair like some sort of cheap, golden-yellow… whatever that thing is. The thing surrounding angels or whatsit.  

 

“Found you!” Bokuto exclaims proudly, much to Keiji’s bemusement. Were they playing a game of hide and seek or something? Keiji didn’t realize.

 

He flops onto the bed, bouncing a bit before settling down beside Keiji, his smile blindingly bright in the dim light from the cracked door, as usual. Keiji takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of sweat and booze and something faintly forest-y, before turning to meet Bokuto’s piercing gold eyes, and— oh, there are actually flecks of deep brown and amber in his eyes. Keiji never noticed before.

 

“Been looking for you everywhere,” Bokuto mumbles right in Keiji’s ear. “What’re you doing in my bedroom?”

 

Ah, is that where he is?

 

Keiji ignores the wave of arousal that washes over him at the feeling of Bokuto’s warm breath on his skin and rich voice in his ear to glance about the room, and suddenly Bokuto’s comment makes so much more sense. Keiji can see it now. The walls are plastered in various sports posters and owls cut from hundreds of magazines and picture books, clothes thrown in a haphazard pile in one corner, textbooks stacked next to both a volleyball and soccer ball in the opposite corner. Messy, but in an organized way, kind of like Bokuto himself.

 

“Exiled,” Keiji answers. He waves a hand vaguely in the air and adds, “Too much beer. Sarukui doing the whole… mom thing again.”

 

Bokuto huffs in amusement, the air blowing against Keiji’s ear and neck sending a slight shiver right down his spine, and Keiji lets his eyes flutter close. “Drinking in celebration?” Bokuto asks. “You got your scores back today, didn’t you?”

 

Keiji grimaces.

 

He really wishes Bokuto hadn’t asked that, especially not with that tone of confidence. His words betray a sense of assurance that Bokuto reserves just for Keiji; one he’s reserved ever since their first meeting in the library, when Bokuto first learned what he was studying and looked up at him with an awe meant for the most powerful of gods. As if Keiji was something incredible. As if him getting anything less than amazing is unthinkable.

 

If Keiji was the same person he was a year ago, or even just a semester ago, he might have been inclined to agree, but now… well, now Keiji isn’t sure he deserves such confidence from Bokuto. He now knows exactly what failure tastes like, and it’s a bitter pill to swallow, even with all the alcohol he used to wash it down.

 

He bites back the disappointment, however, and rolls onto his side to face Bokuto with his hands tucked right up against Bokuto’s chest, so close that their foreheads are almost touching. In the dim light, Bokuto’s skin is a dark brown, almost like chocolate, and the shadows throw into sharp relief his square jawline and strong nose. Keiji catches his breath, fingers curling into the material of Bokuto’s shirt, and his lifts his gaze back to Bokuto’s eyes. Those gold eyes which cut sharply into Keiji’s awareness, darker now due to Keiji’s proximity— dark enough for Keiji to drown in.

 

Keiji _wants_ to drown in them. Wants to drown in all things Bokuto and to forget everything else.  All the grades, and the party just downstairs, and disappointment churning uncomfortably in Keiji’s own stomach. To lose himself completely with Bokuto, if only for an hour. It’d be so easy.

 

And, well… why not? Why not go for it? He’s already ruined his whole degree plan, after all. No way to salvage that from the wreckage smoking about his feet. Why not just throw caution to the wind with his relationship as well and turn these past two weeks of longing into a reality?

 

He breathes out, then inhales Bokuto’s scent along with the air from Bokuto’s mouth, head spinning from intoxication of a different sort.

 

“Don’t wanna talk bout my grades,” he whispers into the tiny bit of space between them, tugging on Bokuto’s shirt in an attempt to draw him even closer.

 

Bokuto’s eyes widen and his mouth drops open, and Keiji can feel the hands that had been resting on the bed between them hesitantly grip his waist. He moves so they’re lying with bodies pressed together, denim rubbing against denim where their legs are intertwined. His hands shift up from where they were bunched in Bokuto’s fraternity shirt to cup his neck, fingers sliding through the feathery strands at his nape, softer than Keiji ever imagined. And then, _oh_ , the way Bokuto smiles: fond and nervous and cocky and warm all at once, slightly crooked with that small, endearing dimple in his left cheek.

 

Bokuto smiles at Keiji like he’s the sole reason the sun still shines, and Keiji pulls him down to kiss the smile right off his face.

 

There’s nothing sweet or innocent about the way their lips slide against each other, tongues tangling together in mutual, curious exploration. Bokuto tastes of cheap beer and something fruity Keiji can’t quite place, and he knows he’s probably just the same, if not worse. But it doesn’t seem to matter much.

 

Bokuto groans from the back of his throat and uses his grip on Keiji’s hips to roll Keiji on top of him, and then buries a hand in Keiji’s dark hair, anchoring Keiji to him with fierce possessiveness. As if Keiji is going anywhere. He kisses Bokuto with frantic, desperate abandon, eager to lose himself in the feel of chapped lips and strong arms and a growing tightness in his pants from where his and Bokuto’s pelvises are grinding against each other, and Keiji knows he’s probably going to regret this in the morning when the hangover hits and he realizes how pathetic he’s being, but right now Keiji doesn’t _care._

 

He’s drunk, he’s desperate, and how is he supposed to care about his future regrets when Bokuto is kissing the air right out of his lungs?

 

This isn’t the first time Keiji’s made out with someone— not even close— but it’s… different, somehow, with Bokuto. Keiji doesn’t really know how, and doesn’t even have the time or sense to ponder it between the touches and the sloppy kisses, but it _is._ Every slide of Bokuto’s fingers across Keiji’s skin sends electricity thrumming through his veins. He feels it spark and crackle as Bokuto slips his hands under Keiji’s shirt to smooth over the planes of his stomach, then all but explode when Bokuto mouths at his neck as if trying to devour him. The energy builds and builds and builds, coiling and swelling, and Keiji is so desperate he can barely breathe. Can only cling with trembling fingers to the strength of Bokuto’s shoulders, wanting more and more and _more_ until Keiji burns into nothing from the heat of it.

 

“Akaashi,” Bokuto whispers into his skin— reverent, like a priest before his deity. Strong fingers skate up Keiji’s torso, over the smooth expanse of skin and small valleys between his ribs, and then scratch slowly down his back, counting each vertebrae.

 

“Akaashi,” Bokuto repeats, soft whispers turning into broken groans as Keiji grinds down against Bokuto, feeling the twin evidence of their desires through denim barriers with every slow, deliberate undulation.

 

Keiji can barely stand the weight of Bokuto’s voice, of his blatant worship, feeling his gold eyes practically devouring the sight of him as Keiji slides between his legs. His head is spinning too much, way too much, but the quiet hitch in Bokuto’s breath when Keiji pops the button of his jeans keeps him focused on his task. On giving pleasure and feeling pleasure, and smothering that guilty feeling churning in his gut with sheer desire. With the electricity he so craves.

 

It’s what he wants.

 

So then why does he feel so sick?

 

Bokuto sits up, seeming concerned, and touches his fingers to Keiji’s suddenly clammy cheek. “Hey,” he whispers, “you ok? Your hands are shaking.”

 

Keiji glances down and, oh, Bokuto’s right. His hands are trembling pretty badly right against Bokuto’s denim-clad thighs, and he pulls them back into his own lap. Laces his fingers together. Tries to quell the shaking. Without much luck, though.

 

The quivering surges through the rest of his body, almost like he’s scared or cold, which he definitely isn’t. He might be sick though with the way his stomach is churning and lurching, but fuck he can’t think straight with the wave of dizziness that washes over him. Just coughs and gags and prays he’s not about to vomit right into Bokuto’s lap because that’s just _disgusting_ and a total mood-killer and not at all how he wants Bokuto to see him, and holy shit he really shouldn’t have had so many beers.

 

He barely registers Bokuto sliding out from underneath him to grab something on the other side of the room until, suddenly, he’s holding something right underneath Keiji’s face, and then Keiji just can’t hold it in any longer.

 

He hurls straight in the small, plastic trash can.

 

* * *

 

Keiji wakes up the next morning and immediately wishes he hadn’t.

 

Pain is the first thing he registers. Lancing pain that shoots right through him with every movement, sending his senses reeling, which only makes this whole situation worse.

 

He feels terrible. His head is pounding, stomach churning, and his throat is as dry and scratchy as sandpaper. It hurts to swallow. It’ll probably hurt even more to talk. If he can talk with how heavy his tongue feels in his mouth. His disgusting mouth. He’s pretty sure something actually crawled in there overnight and died because the way it feels, all hot and sticky acidic, is just revolting.

 

Keiji grimaces.

 

Maybe he’s dying. It certainly feels that way. He hurts all over, all the way down to his fingertips, and when he opens his eyes just a crack, the sunlight in the room overloads his senses and makes him want to disappear. Preferably to somewhere without any light. Or sound. Or smells.

 

Oh god, _smells_.

 

There’s a lingering stench of booze and smoke on him, soaked into his clothes and skin because he was a drunken _idiot_ and passed out before he could even shower or change. It’s a musty kind of scent, but almost acrid in its staleness. Disgusting. But nowhere near as bad as the scent of grease and cooking bacon rising through the floor from the kitchen below just to torture him. Strong. Meaty. Completely not what he wants to smell right now.

 

His stomach lurches, and he groans. Which, he finds, is a horrible idea really, since doing so only adds to the general noise of the room and makes the pain in his head tighten. And, _god_ , he really shouldn’t be thinking right now. Really. Truly. Just… no thinking. Bad idea. Terrible idea.

 

This whole morning is just the worst. He hasn’t been this hungover in… fuck, he doesn’t know how long. At least a year. Probably more. Even the aftermath of that one party at the beginning of the year— the one with the couch bonfire— wasn’t nearly this bad. Not even in the slightest. Which might say more about Keiji’s stupid desperation to drown away his problems than he’s probably willing to admit.

 

How much did he actually drink last night? He can’t remember. His memories are a little scattered, and what he does recall is hazy at best from all the alcohol that’d been swimming through his system. There’s something in his memories about doing shots, and grinding up against complete strangers while dancing, and he thinks he might have played an ill-advised game of beer pong or something? Maybe it was a dare. Possibly he was just showing off, as he’s wont to do whenever he passes a certain threshold of intoxication.

 

Faceless names and nameless faces float through his mind as he sifts through memories. He doesn’t understand any of it. Not until he recalls Sarukui— wonderful, wonderful Sarukui— stealing the beer from his hands and forcing him away from the party, to some bedroom in the Phi Kappa Delta house.

 

He bites back another groan and buries his face in the pillow.

 

His memories get more vague. He knows the room was dark, and also familiar. And he knows someone eventually came to join him. He remembers their warm presence at his side. Soft words. Gentle touches. Bleached hair and golden eyes. Throwing caution to the wind in order to kiss those ever-smiling lips. And, oh.

 

Fuck.

 

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck._

 

He kissed Bokuto.

 

He was drunk, and desperate, and he kissed Bokuto. His pledge brother. Who almost definitely kissed Keiji back, and then some.

 

Cautiously, he touches his neck where Bokuto had been mouthing last night and feels a dull ache in the exact spot, much like a bruise. No. Not a bruise. A hickey. Most definitely a hickey.

 

 _Well_ , he thinks. This whole thing is all sorts of fucked up right now.

 

He’s lying in Bokuto’s bed with a hickey on his neck, still feeling the ghost touch of Bokuto’s chapped lips on his skin, and god fucking dammit, that is _not_ the way Keiji wanted to tell Bokuto about his feelings. He’s singlehandedly made this situation a million times more awkward for himself, because he’s pretty sure this sort of almost-hookup thing isn’t something people usually want to talk about, even when they really need to.

 

He doesn’t fail to notice the absence of a warm body beside him. Or the silence from the attached bathroom. Or the lack of Bokuto’s normally boisterous voice, which can almost always be heard all throughout the house.

 

Bokuto’s probably fled in terror, actually. Too afraid to confront the awkwardness that’s going to be between them now. Keiji wouldn’t blame him. He kind of wants to flee too. And probably would if he didn’t have this whole hangover thing going on.

 

He opens his eyes, wincing terribly when the sunlight hits him right in the face, pain slicing through him from sensory overload. But at least his eyes are open now. He’s making progress. And makes even more progress when he rolls onto his side to look at the alarm clock Bokuto keeps on his bedside table.

 

It’s only ten— incredible since he usually sleeps past noon on days like these— but he supposes that explains the breakfast smell wafting through the room. There’s also a large glass of water and two aspirin pills right next to the clock, sitting on top of a small “feel better soon” note scrawled in Bokuto’s messy handwriting. There’s a lopsided, owl-like smiley face drawn on it and everything, and it’s just so typical of Bokuto that Keiji’s lips can’t help but quirk upwards in response.

 

He sits up, feeling his body ache with every movement, and swallows down the pills. If they kick in fast enough, he might be able to stomach some of that breakfast his frat brothers are cooking up. Or maybe he should just skip food altogether. As happy as he is to see the note, his nerves are all knotted together, frazzled and tangled and strung so tightly Keiji thinks they’re about to snap any second.

 

The events of last night hammer in just how badly Keiji needs to get his shit together, because he honestly can’t deal with any of this right now. He can’t handle this possibly growing relationship on top of the crazy parties and his insanely heavy course load. He can’t even handle the parties and the school work as it is. Not with the way things are right now; his midterm grades are proof enough of that.

 

And, as much as he wants to hunt Bokuto down and figure out just what’s going on between the two of them, Keiji knows he needs to address the conflicts already on his doorstep, because it isn’t fair to either of them if Keiji’s too caught up in fixing his past mistakes to focus on his present desires.

 

He needs to talk to Bokuto. He really does. And soon.

 

But first… first, Keiji has a few things he needs to fix.

 

* * *

 

“Have you thought about switching majors?” Sarukui asks through a mouthful of some suspicious-looking casserole when Keiji brings up the topic over lunch. “Easier to do it now than later."

 

Keiji pokes at his own food— a relatively safe salad because Keiji doesn’t trust anything else this dining hall serves, except perhaps the cereal— and sighs. “I’ve thought about it. But what would I even switch into? I’m not a big fan of the liberal arts, and business would bore me— though Bokuto would kill me if he ever heard me say that. I’m really just good at math and science, and that still leaves a lot of options open.”

 

Too many options, if he really thinks about it. He has no idea where to even start.

 

“You should talk to your professors,” Kenma says beside him, not even looking up from the chemistry articles spread all over his section of the table. He marks something on one of the documents with his pencil before adding, “They’ll help narrow down your choices, if nothing else.”

 

Keiji grimaces. “I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to,” he admits, already feeling the dread bubbling up in his stomach. Kenma finally looks up from his papers and levels Keiji with a flat stare.

 

“At this point,” he says, “you really don’t have much of a choice.”

 

* * *

 

A week later finds Keiji standing unhappily in the doorway of his chemistry professor’s office, waiting for the man to finish up a call so they can talk.

 

Dr. Nekomata, he knows, is a brilliant man. As head of the chemistry department— a department he single handedly brought back around from a state of disrepair to a state of nation-wide respectability— he can be nothing less. But while that might come across as intimidating to most outsiders, Keiji knows Dr. Nekomata is actually fairly easy-going, and also one of the most understanding professors in the entire science department, mostly due to his old age.

 

Outside of all the work he’s done, Dr. Nekomata helped raise both children and grandchildren, the latter of which he proudly crows about in all of his classes, silly pictures and all. So he’s well aware of how stressful school can be for the modern day student. More than many of the other professors at least, most of whom are fresh out of their PhD programs. Which is why, out of all his options, Keiji decided to talk this over with Dr. Nekomata, even though Keiji’s never really shown any sort of inclination towards the field of chemistry. Like, at all.

 

Thinking about it though, it probably would have been a better idea to discuss his options with a professor from his preferred department. One who’d know the type of major Keiji should probably looking at now that he’s flunked out of engineering. Or would at least know what to expect from engineering-related programs. But even just considering it makes Keiji break out into a small panic, cold sweat prickling at the back of his neck, and Keiji isn’t really keen to mess around with that.

 

It’s not that he dislikes his other professors, or doesn’t they’d be able to help him, because they definitely could. Keiji just… he can’t bring himself to face them, knowing how disappointed they must be with the semester he’s had. He harbors no delusions about his recent work ethic, and that might just be the worst part of it all— knowing he could have done just fine on his exams if he’d just put some actual effort into his classes. And all of his professors know it too.

 

Keiji can’t face his engineering and physics professors like this. He’d only feel more ashamed.

 

It’s easier with Dr. Nekomata, who’s always known chemistry isn’t exactly Keiji’s strong suit, and so held no true expectations for him the way his engineering professors had. He ushers Keiji into his office and waves him over to one of the chairs with a pleasant smile, and something inside Keiji’s chest relaxes at the simple kindness in Dr. Nekomata’s expression.

 

“So,” he begins, sitting down behind his large, cedar desk, “what can I do for you?”

 

Keiji fidgets, fingers twitching on his thighs, suddenly unsure of what to say.

 

Oh, he knows what he’s _supposed_ to say. Knows what he probably _should_ say, which doesn’t exactly match up with what he really _wants_ to say about this whole mess. But, god, is it even fair to unload all this shit to his professor about his grades, and why they tanked so badly, and how afraid he is of the future now because of it? Because, truthfully, Keiji is _really_ afraid.

 

He’s always had a plan in life. At least in regards to his education and future career. Go to university, major in engineering, get a well-paying job with some company in need of a mechanical engineer, then retire after a long and lucrative career to some house out in the country. Now a fundamental part of that plan is no longer an option for him, leaving a hole that Keiji doesn’t know how to fill, and that scares the hell out of him.

 

But maybe that’s too much information to tell Dr. Nekomata. After all, he came here for academic advice, not for a therapy session.

 

Dr. Nekomata waits patiently while Keiji tries to form words. He’s smiling in a way that softens the deep lines of his face, turning his expression almost indulgent, as if Keiji is one of his grandsons coming to him with some monumental problem he absolutely needs to fix. Which isn’t all that inaccurate, Keiji has to admit. And somehow, the knowledge of that makes him feel just a little more at ease. Enough for him to take a deep breath and just… spill everything.

 

He tells Dr. Nekomata about last semester, when he tried to keep his focus locked on his grades alone and nearly went mad from all the pressure. He tells him about finding a family with Phi Kappa Delta, and then getting so comfortable with the fun and the camaraderie that he completely forgot how much work he needed to do in order to stay afloat in his engineering program, and how guilty he feels for letting himself fall so far behind. How he wants to do well in his classes, wants to do something worthwhile after he graduates, but can’t devote every waking hour to his course work like most of his classmates without wanting to carve his brain out and put it through a blender. How afraid he is of failing. And not just in his classes.

 

Dr. Nekomata listens quietly, carefully, weighing every word with a solemnity not many other professors would extend to a silly, eighteen year old student.

 

It makes Keiji feel a bit better about dumping all his troubles on his professor. And that, in turn, makes him feel more confident that whatever Dr. Nekomata has to say after all this is exactly what Keiji needs to hear. Though he doesn’t quite expect the advice he actually receives.

 

“It seems to me that the whole crux of your dilemma isn’t actually in what major you should switch to,” Dr. Nekomata tells him. “You’ll do just fine in whatever subject you choose to study, even if you decide to give engineering one more chance. But in order to make that decision, you need to figure out just where your priorities are.”

 

Keiji frowns. “Are you saying I need to choose between academics and my fraternity?”

 

“I’m saying you need to decide which one you’d rather spend more time with,” Dr. Nekomata clarifies. “You can have both, you know. So long as you keep them balanced.”

 

He smiles fondly at Keiji— the kind of expression that makes Keiji think everything will work out in the end. And maybe it will.

 

He never really considered what Dr. Nekomata said to him, but it makes sense. There are a lot of different majors Keiji could see himself studying, though many of them require a heavier course load than others, and really that’s what this all comes down to. How much schoolwork Keiji can handle on top of his new social life. How much schoolwork he wants to deal with in general.

 

It’s something he really needs to think about before coming to any kind of decision. But if it can help him fix the mess his life’s suddenly become, then he might as well give it a shot.

 

* * *

 

Priorities. That’s the key word to this whole mess. Keiji just needs to figure out his priorities.

 

Which is easier said than done since, for the longest time, Keiji’s priorities had been all about getting good grades and getting a nice, well-paying engineering job after graduating, and that was more honestly based on what he thought his parents expected than any true passion of his own. He recalls looking at universities, trying to decide which program would be the best option, and then thinking _hey, I’m good at math and science, let’s try for something there._ And then somehow he decided on engineering. Probably because his tour guide made it sound so _great_ (fucking asshole), and it just… seemed like the proper thing to do.

 

It wasn’t a terrible choice, really. He likes engineering. Likes the courses and the general applications. If Keiji had the time and energy to devote to his studying, or if the program had been less intense about tests and assignments, he really could have been completely content with his lot in life.

 

Keiji just doesn’t have the drive though. Most of the kids he knows in the program are the type of students to spend every possible moment studying, and Keiji isn’t like that at all. He goes stir-crazy if he spends too long studying. He learned that earlier this year when he attempted to forgo parties in order to do his work. It’s part of the reason why he ended up pledging Phi Kappa Delta in the end, and why he had such a hard time finding a balance this semester.

 

So then what should he do? What’s most important to him now? Academics? Friends? Getting a good job?

 

What does he want?

 

He ponders this over the weekend, trying to come up with some sort of answer while all the fraternities on New Greek Street set up some sort of impromptu volleyball tournament on the sand courts of the neighborhood park, complete with stereo systems and a giant barbecue courtesy of the Theta Nu sorority. The answer doesn’t come easy to him. Keiji decides to help the girls out instead of playing with the rest of the Phi Kaps, and his position on the sidelines offers him plenty of time to think, which is exactly what he needs.

 

The questions repeat over and over again inside his mind.

 

What are his priorities? What is it he wants most?

 

His gaze flickers over to Bokuto, who’s dominating the court with his endless supply of energy and enthusiasm. He’s in top form today, spiking with terrifying power into the other court, and Keiji almost laughs when he notices the Gamma Zeta Gamma members actually diving _away_ from Bokuto’s spike rather than towards it. Bokuto shouts triumphantly, his entire being radiating pride, and high fives the Phi Kaps next to him. Keiji has to look away before he’s blinded by Bokuto’s happiness.

 

They still haven’t talked about it. About what happened that night at the party. Keiji knows they need to, but this whole changing majors thing has kept him too occupied to even mention the idea of talking to Bokuto, who’s been noticeably keeping his distance from Keiji ever since that night. It’s odd, considering the type of person Bokuto is— loud, confident, always pushing and pushing and pushing in order to get what he wants. But Keiji can understand. He has a feeling Bokuto’s distance has more to do with some chivalrous notion of giving Keiji time to recover than anything else. And while it’s a little bit frustrating, it’s also endearing and a somewhat of a relief.

 

He isn’t ready for that conversation. Not yet.

 

But he wonders if maybe he should take their possible relationship into account while making his decision? He should probably at least consider their friendship, since it’s become such a huge part of Keiji’s life. He wants to have the time to hang out with Bokuto and do more crazy things, like stealing stop signs and burning couches. And not just with Bokuto, but with all of Phi Kappa Delta.

 

He can’t imagine not getting to play video games with his frat brothers, or play pranks on the other frats, or throw crazy parties that get talked about for weeks afterward. Keiji loves Greek life. He loves the excitement. Loves the fun and the camaraderie and the _brotherhood_. And he can’t see himself sacrificing any of that in favor of boring school work.

 

What about a job though? Would he be able to get something lucrative if he doesn’t study something difficult?

 

Could he still be content without the well-paying job he’d been expecting to get?

 

Keiji would like to say he would, but he really doesn’t know. He likes the idea of stability and comfort. That’s part of why he looked into engineering in the first place. And he’s more than aware of how small the job market is for new graduates in almost every field outside of engineering, which makes him even more anxious about picking a new major. His thoughts bounce back and forth between his options like the volleyball flying across the sand court, settling on one idea for just a second before being tossed into yet another one. Always in motion.

 

Conflicted, he stands on the sidelines and watches the game unfold. The Phi Kaps work well together, although their teamwork isn’t flawless. There’s something missing from the group that leaves them slightly off balance, though Keiji doesn’t really know what that something is. He’d like to think it’s his presence. That he’s meant to fill some sort of proverbial hole, even though that thought is the cheesiest thing Keiji’s ever let cross his mind. So cheesy it makes Keiji cringe.

 

Bokuto slams the ball into the other side of the court once more and cheers, finally claiming victory over Gamma Zeta Gamma. He spins around in celebration, and then stops mid-spin when he spots Keiji standing off to the side. Practically glowing now, he shouts and waves his arms, drawing the attention of the rest of the Phi Kaps, who all join in when they see whom Bokuto’s waving to.

 

The guys pull Keiji from the sidelines onto the court and engulf him in a giant hug, as if he’d been playing on court with them instead of just spectating. They don’t make the distinction, just crush him under the warm weight of celebration and brotherhood, and it makes something inside of him melt. He laughs and looks up at Sarukui, and then at Bokuto, and then something clicks into place.

 

This… This is what Keiji wants— to be with his brothers, cheering over stupid things like sand volleyball. Not having to worry about his grades, just having fun. This is where he wants to be, regardless of anything else, even if it means a mediocre job after graduating. Because these friendships, this brotherhood, will last long after school, hopefully for the rest of his life. And Keiji wants to treasure that.

 

_Fraternitas ante omnia._

 

Above all, brotherhood.

 

* * *

 

“So you’re really changing majors then? You finally settled on something?”

 

“I think so.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Well, I’m not entirely sure it’ll work out, but I’m hopeful.”

 

“Good enough for me.”

 

“Hey, Sarukui… just… thanks for your help.”

 

“Wow, Akaashi. Way to be embarrassing.”

 

“Shut up. I mean it.”

 

“I know. You’re welcome.”

 

* * *

 

 _Balance_ , he decides. _It’s all about balance from here on out_.

 

He does pretty well, he thinks. As soon as he decides which major to switch into, everything starts falling into place, and he makes it through the rest of the semester with little issue.

 

It helps that Phi Kappa Delta slows down on the party output. All the time Keiji would usually put towards preparing party things, he now devotes to pulling up his grades into a reasonable range of sorts, at least to the point where he’d be passing his classes. That’s all he’s really aiming for at this point.

 

He’s pleasantly surprised when his grades all jump beyond passing into a solid C-range, and he celebrates that weekend with Sarukui over a cheap six-pack of beer. He celebrates again with the rest of the Phi Kaps the weekend after when he gets word that his transfer request into the physics program has been approved, to take effect with the next semester.

 

The only thing in his life that doesn’t seem to be getting resolved is his weird, unspoken quasi-relationship with Bokuto.

 

It’s not surprising really, considering how they both seem to be avoiding the conversation Keiji knows they need to have. But feelings are uncomfortable to talk about, and Keiji would much rather corner Bokuto in his room and recreate their actions from that night weeks ago— this time, without the alcohol. He thinks about doing it. Multiple times. And truthfully, with his academic life back on track, he’s really tempted to test it out.

 

Throughout all this, Sarukui— being the wonderful, amazing friend that he is— acts as Keiji’s voice of reason, keeping him from doing anything he might later regret. Which is quite a lot, if Keiji’s being honest.

 

“Couple or not, you’re not gonna be satisfied until you have some sort of verbal confirmation,” he points out, multiple times. “You guys need to straighten this out. Make sure there aren’t any misunderstandings.”

 

And Keiji knows he’s right, but it’s just… so difficult to put it into words? Like, Keiji thought he’d be ready to talk this all out as soon as his grades were back on track, but he definitely is not prepared at all. He’s the exact opposite of prepared, actually. He has no idea what to say.

 

“Just tell him you like him,” Kenma says. “Write it on his face or something.”

 

Keiji laughs, imagining how that’d play out— Bokuto waking up in the morning and finding Keiji’s confession scrawled across his forehead in black, permanent marker. He knows Bokuto wouldn’t mind, and would probably crow proudly over such a visual display of Keiji’s affections, and that’s mostly why Keiji doesn’t actually follow through on Kenma’s advice. Because, otherwise, it’s a pretty solid plan. Gets the point across, no talking involved, Bokuto taking it all in stride.

 

But Keiji isn’t interested in proclaiming his love for everyone to see. He just needs Bokuto to know. He needs an understanding just between the two of them.

 

He finds words aren’t really Bokuto’s forte as the semester drags on, however. Once Keiji stops spending so much time in the library and more time around the Phi Kap house, the distance Bokuto had been keeping from him dissolves into thin air, as if it had never been there in the first place. In fact, Bokuto seems entirely uninterested in keeping any sort of distance between them at all, crowding into Keiji’s personal space with ever-increasing frequency.

 

It’s comfortable though, and it makes Bokuto light up with joy whenever Keiji returns his little bits of physical affection, his smile so wide it nearly splits his face.

 

When Bokuto first smiles at him that way, Keiji wants to kiss him senseless. He’s pretty sure Bokuto wouldn’t have protested.

 

Sarukui’s right though. He needs the words. He needs the verbal assurance that what he thinks is happening is actually happening, because otherwise he’ll always be wondering, and that’s just not healthy. He needs to talk to Bokuto about this whole thing, and in order to do that he needs to work up the nerve to actually put what he’s thinking into words.

 

He tries once, when he and Bokuto run into each other at the campus coffee shop after classes.

 

It’s crowded, as expected, with everyone and their piles of homework showing up to get their daily dose of coffee. Keiji isn’t any different. But it’s hard to find a table in all this mess until he ventures onto the backyard porch and finds Bokuto sitting alone at a table in the far corner, though he happily makes room for Keiji once he sees him there.

 

Keiji sits across from him hesitantly. It’s just a little awkward, sitting alone together for the first time in a long while, and Keiji has no idea what to say. Can’t help but think of all the unspoken thoughts he’s harbored ever since that drunken night, and his personal desire to find some stable ground between the two of them again. He doesn’t even know what Bokuto’s thinking anymore, and that’s a completely new experience for Keiji, who’s always been so good at reading Bokuto’s thoughts from his expression.

 

“I feel like we never see each other anymore,” Bokuto comments with a smile. His dimple peeks out in his left cheek, and Keiji feels his stomach tighten into knots. “Been a while since we’ve gotten to talk.”

 

Keiji nods. “Not since the party,” he mutters. His hands tighten around his paper coffee cup, and he swallows heavily. “That wasn’t my best moment.”

 

“You were having a rough day. We all have those. Hell, I have one like once a week, as you damn well know.”

 

A rough day is a good way of putting it. Keiji’s never had a worse day in his life. But he wonders over the excuse Bokuto gives, because what happened that night was more than Keiji just having a rough day. He knows that. And he’s pretty sure Bokuto knows that, even with the escape he’s clearly offering.

 

Keiji doesn’t take it though. He’s far past his moment of fear and regret, well aware of some silent acknowledgment they’ve come to regarding their feelings, and now he just… he wants to set it all out in words. Wants to make sure they’re alright.

 

His finger taps against his coffee cup. “About that night—”

 

“It’s fine,” Bokuto interrupts. Keiji’s gaze snaps up to him and he gently smiles. “We’re fine.”

 

It’s all the assurance Keiji needs, and he lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding.

 

And it’s weird, because he always knew Bokuto was right there alongside him, supporting him, but he supposes he never realized just how much until just now. He never really appreciated just how well Bokuto knows him until this moment, faced with the fact that Bokuto never needed an explanation to understand why Keiji did what he did that night. He just accepted it and understood it, and never doubted that, however bad a day it was, Keiji’s drunken kiss was not entirely fueled by a desire to get away. He never doubted Keiji, and the knowledge of that knocks Keiji right off his feet.

 

He feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. Bokuto’s words quiet that need inside of him to reach an understanding and breaks the tension that’d been so thick between them this whole time. It’s liberating, even though Keiji can’t quite conjure the words he wants to say.

 

But for now, that’s alright. He’ll have plenty of time in the future to try again.

 

 _By the end of the semester_ , he promises himself. _Just tell him by then_.

 

* * *

 

The first time Keiji asks Bokuto on a date, he’s moving into his new room in the Phi Kappa Delta house.

 

It’s just after finals week, and everyone’s moving back home for the holidays, but Keiji needs to move all his stuff from his dorm into the house before he can even think about heading home. He wants to be settled before he leaves, so that when he comes back he’ll be able to enjoy all the pre-semester mixers and parties without having to deal with the irritation of moving and reorganizing and such.

 

With help from Bokuto, he’s managed to get most of his shit across campus to the house. There’s only a few things left in his nearly empty room. A duffel bag of clothes, a box of books, a couple of posters he’d had hanging on his wall. And then, in Bokuto’s hands, the stop sign they’d stolen all those months ago.

 

Seeing it now, Keiji recalls that night— the first night of many in his friendship with Bokuto. He thinks it says a lot about the two of them that their first meeting occurred when they were both completely drunk. And it says a lot more that Keiji considers that night to be one of the best nights of his life, even though he can’t really remember most of it.

 

He smiles and sits on the edge of his dorm bed, stripped now of all sheets and pillows and even the foam topper he’d been using to make the bed just slightly more comfortable. Bokuto’s smiling down at the stop sign with fondness, probably remembering the same thing Keiji was just thinking about, and it strikes him just how different they are now from when they first met, not only in appearance— because quite honestly they haven’t changed that much except that Keiji’s hair is slightly longer and Bokuto’s wardrobe has morphed into nothing but shorts and sleeveless tops in preparation for the summer heat— but also in who they are now as people.

 

Keiji knows himself so much better after this year, having been through academic hell and back. He knows what he cares about, what he wants for himself, and even has a pretty clear idea for his future that already seems so much better than what he’d been imagining with his engineering degree. He’s confident, self-assured. Ready to tackle anything that might come his way.

 

Though there’s still one more thing he needs to do before this year can end.

 

“We should hang this in the kitchen,” Bokuto says, “so everyone can see just how cool we are.”

 

Keiji gives a noncommittal shrug.

 

He doesn’t really care where the stop sign goes. Bokuto can hang it wherever he wants, so long as it doesn’t get thrown away. Keiji’s too fond of it, and of all the significance it holds, to ever willingly part with it. But he’s pretty sure Bokuto feels the exact same way, so he doesn’t really worry.

 

Bokuto rambles on about all the cool places they can hang the stop sign and how they should find some other street signs to add to their collection just for fun, and Keiji’s smiling like a goddamn idiot because holy shit he loves this boy, and then suddenly the words he’d never been able to find are there at the tip of his tongue, and he just blurts them out before he can give himself a chance to back out of it.

 

“Bokuto, let’s go on a date,” he says, and the words feel so natural falling from his tongue that Keiji wonders why it was ever an issue in the first place.

 

Bokuto nearly drops the stop sign from surprise, but catches it before it can fall from his hands. After a moment, he sets the sign against the wall near Keiji’s door, then crosses the room to stand in front of Keiji, who, for once, is completely calm.

 

“Go out with me,” he repeats, words just barely louder than a whisper.

 

Bokuto answers him by cupping his cheeks and pulling him into a deep kiss.

 

And that’s just fine, Keiji thinks, smiling against Bokuto’s lips. That’s perfectly alright with him.


End file.
